Finding Celebrian
by Dragon Confused
Summary: A short story about Celebrian's rescue and recovery after capture by the orcs. Main characters: Celebrian, Elladan, Elrohir, Elrond, Arwen, Glorfindel.
1. Chapter One

This is another story. The characters are as per usual not mine. You knew that. I don't know where this story came from. Well I do. I was thinking with my other Celebrian story that she had to be a bit special, a bit tougher than average to even get through this. Which is why I made her as she was there. Then I thought I'd write this. It was supposed to be one chapter but I can see now that it'll be longer. It isn't the type of thing I normally write so sorry if its rubbish.  
  
  
  
She was lying on damp rock but she did not care. The roughness cut into her cheek and stung her raw grazes but she no longer had the spirit to move. She could not tell how long she had been lying here, still in the position in which she had hit the ground, watching foul smelling water drip from the algae lined streams on the walls. She wished that she could cry or sleep. Anything to break the nothingness that had enveloped her. But her body seemed to have gone beyond that. The pain from her wounds seemed insignificant now, all there was left to do was lie in the earthy smelling gloom watching as the trickle of water ran down the roughly hewn rocks and pooled on the floor, soaking through the tattered remains of her garments.  
  
~*~  
  
Somewhere there was disturbance. Shouts, clanging of metal, shrieks of pain. Maybe she should turn, but she could not face looking at them. Maybe she should look for a chance to escape, but there would be no hiding - not from this.  
  
Rough hands seized her dragging her limp body to her feet. Her arm caught on the rough edge of a mail shirt. The tearing should have hurt, but strangely she felt nothing, instead watching in a detached manner as the deep red liquid welled up around the wound and trickled down her arm. The shouting was too loud now, bodies jostling past, too many faces lit only by a pale flame.  
  
They were trying to take her somewhere. Dragging her against the rush, deeper into the shadows and slime covered tunnels. She did not want this, not again. It could not happen. Even death was better than this. Using her last ounce of strength she attempted the only defence available to her and dropped to her knees, landing on the floor with a crack, but mercifully free from the damp scaly hands.  
  
Dazed from her fall she flinched back as claw-like hands reached for her, they must not touch her. Finally just as the hand reached greedily for her shoulder it jerked back as an arrow plunged into its owner's chest. Desperately she managed to drag herself into a corner, away from the trampling feet of the swiftly decreasing numbers of orcs.  
  
~*~  
  
The figure was only a shadow urgently letting arrows fly and swiping at closer opponents with a double-handed grip on his sword. Although it was dark she knew it was Elladan. The motions, the energy and the deathly silence as he fought were all his.  
  
When had he grown into this? He was still her son, still a child. The cuddly elfling had never had any of this brutality or anger. Even as a lanky young elf eager to taste battle he had never seemed this cold, this distant. It was quiet in her mind, for the first time she seemed unable to connect with him or share his feelings. Maybe because the noise of her own grief was raging so loudly in her head that it blocked out anything else. Even hope.  
  
Suddenly the room seemed strangely quiet. The noise of battle seemed to be fading into the distance. Celebrian relaxed slightly. Finally it had come. Peace. They could not hurt her anymore.  
  
~*~  
  
"Ammë." The voice was both desperate and doubtful.  
  
Celebrian reluctantly allowed her eyes to focus. The room was now empty apart from a lean figure leaping over bodies to reach her.  
  
Elladan.  
  
He could not see her like this. Nobody could. The shame burnt too dreadfully. Had the Valar not the mercy to grant her wish.  
  
"Ammë!" A strong arm slipped round her back, lifting her into a sitting position. Warm liquid soaked through her clothing at one point. He was hurt. She should be helping him. Lifting the child onto the tall stools of the infirmary and cuddling him as she daubed on the ointment. But she could not even make eye contact.  
  
"Ammë, I am here." Gloved fingers slipped to her neck, checking the pulse, and lifting her chin to look into his face.  
  
When had he stopped being a boy? All of the joyfulness of youth had gone there was no laugh playing in those grey eyes. Grey eyes that he had inherited from his father. Eyes that were quickly filling with horror as he surveyed his mother.  
  
Feebly Celebrian attempted to pull the rags of her clothing to hide her wounded body. The young face had twisted in disgust and he had sprung up from his kneeling position and had walked to a corner.  
  
She could not go back. She could not face their disgust, their condemnation, and the shame.  
  
The sound of retching brought her attention back to her son, who was now bent over in the corner, vomit splashing to the stone at his feet.  
  
She should have protected him from this. She was his mother. She should never have allowed him to be exposed to the horror.  
  
Her mouth was to dry to allow her to call his name. The attempt only produced an alien rasping noise. She was useless. He needed her and she was unable to help. How many times had she put a child to bed and sat by them, wiping their face and hands with a cloth soaked in warm fragrant water. And now when she needed to most she was unable to even place an arm around the heaving shoulders.  
  
She had to come back. She needed to be there for them. With a desperate effort Celebrian fully opened her eyes and attempted to sit up.  
  
"Elladan." It was a hoarse whisper but enough to make him turn and wipe his mouth on his sleeve before coming over and kneeling on the floor beside her.  
  
"I am sorry Ammë."  
  
A warm tear fell from his cheek onto her bare arm. Celebrian attempted to make some form of eye contact. To offer some form of comfort. She had not seen Elladan cry, not for centuries. Not since he had been so small that she had been able to pick him up for a cuddle. But now she could not even lift her hand to touch his face.  
  
~*~  
  
Struggling to contain his feelings Elladan unfastened the small silver brooch that fastened his cloak and wrapped the warm woollen fabric around the bruised narrow shoulders. There was something in the familiar blue eyes that bothered him. It was not that they showed pain. . . just emptiness. . .almost as if the soul had gone.  
  
Gently lifting his mother into his arms he left the dank darkness of the cavern, hoping that neither of them should ever have cause to return. 


	2. Chapter Two

Here is the next chapter. Enjoy. Thanks for the reviews, I'm pretty unsure about whether or not I can carry off this story and you give me more confidence. A general note, although this story stands alone I'd recommend you read (and review :p) some of my other stories, especially if you want to know more about my Celebrian and more character stuff because I can't repeat it all here. And no I'm not just saying that to get more reviews. . . er . . . almost.  
  
Dantee: Yes the scene between Elladan and Glorfindel that I referred too earlier will be in this story. I know most of what it'll say. . . I can picture it anyway. And it's pretty key in the relationship between Elladan and Glorfindel. But it will be in quite a while. And quite a bit of sad Elladan stuff first.  
  
  
  
"Elladan!" Elrohir came pelting down the passageway, sword in hand. He had taken the left fork of the tunnel when the twins had split up in their haste to find their mother, but despite having cleared the network of tunnels in his side had found no sign of her.  
  
"I cannot. . . oh. . ." The younger twin stopped suddenly as he saw the crumpled bundle in his brother's arms. Hot tears cut pale pathways through the grime on his cheeks. "She. . . she. . ?"  
  
"She lives." Elladan's voice felt foreign to his tongue. His mouth numbly forming words he had never thought he would have to say.  
  
"Oh Ammë," Elrohir's boots pounded on the dirty rock as he ran over to his brother, "We are here. You are safe."  
  
~*~  
  
It was all going hazy now, time passing in blurred confusion. The cloak wrapped around her seemed intolerably itchy on her bare skin but she had not the strength to do anything about it. He was walking carefully, carrying her smoothly. It did not matter now. Could he not see that?  
  
The air was getting fresher out here. She had long despaired of ever being free to enjoy the scent of the grass and wild flowers that lined the pass again. How could flowers grow so close to this? Did they not know what had happened?  
  
More noises. He will not be able to defend himself holding this burden. He should let her fall. But it is Elrohir. My Elrohir. He could not stand to see her like this. He would not cope. They were too close. The pain would cut too deeply. He would know.  
  
Celebrian weakly turned her head to press her face against her older son's chest. The cold mithril plates were strangely comforting. Something of home. Something that signified safety. If only it had been any other. There were hundreds of soldiers available in the Imladris Guard. Who had decided that her children should be subjected to this?  
  
"She lives."  
  
In body maybe but not in spirit. Who knew what harm she was causing them? Elladan did not speak like that. Where was the laughter, the teasing and the life? Had she not been able to hear the steady rhythm of his heart pounding she would have doubted his living. That cold dead voice did not belong to anyone she knew.  
  
"Ammë?"  
  
Elrohir is here. She could feel him crying, his breath coming in gasps that warmed the back of her neck. He had thought to remove his filthy gloves and his warm fingertips stroked the bruised cheek. She would not look at him. He must be protected from this knowledge. He was so sensitive, so gentle. She should be coming out to meet him as he returned from battle, and laughing he should be picking her up and swinging her round. They had grown so big.  
  
"Let me Elladan." Gentle arms slipped around her body, trying to take the burden himself. But Elladan did not yield.  
  
"We must hurry. I will take her." The grip tightened slightly. Elladan would not let her go again. Elrohir's disagreement was evident in the tautness of his muscles but as ever he backed down. For a moment Celebrian had been afraid that the twins would argue as they had done since childhood. Who owned what? Who had done that? But nobody would want her. Not when they knew.  
  
"Where was she?" Ever the peacemaker, Elrohir's voice held no trace of annoyance. He was moving, trying to see into the cavern. He must not see what happened there. Celebrian tried to speak but her strength failed. She was trapped in a useless body. She had to shield him from this but her muscles no longer obeyed her instructions.  
  
"We must hurry Elrohir!" Elladan's voice was deadly and clipped with anger. Side-stepping with more haste than smoothness he blocked the view into the cavern with his body. Celebrian's whole body relaxed in relief. Elladan would protect him. He had always fought for the pair of them, taken the conflict of two onto his shoulders.  
  
Elladan could take this. He was strong.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian winced slightly as Elladan heaved her onto the back of his horse, and in a smooth movement mounted behind her. As the constant horror faded and she drifted back to the present she was beginning to feel a dull ache in her body and every inch of her skin felt bruised and was painful to touch. The grip relaxed slightly, holding her tentatively, afraid that she would break.  
  
She had not realised how cold she had become. The warmth from Elladan's body and the muscular back of the large dark brown horse was slowly bringing her back into the world of the living. The weak autumn sun was too bright and the light breeze harsh against her skin. Whimpering slightly she managed to turn her face against her son's shoulder. The roughly woven fabric of his tunic was warm and damp against her cheek. He was hurt. She had done this to him. Celebrian felt her throat contract as if to cry but no tears came.  
  
"Elrohir, come we must leave this place." Elladan's voice made a brave attempt at being bracing, but faltered slightly at the end. He was worried for his brother who had already been on his horse when they had emerged from the shadowed entrance. Elrohir had always been fond of horses and was caressing his mount's neck, but unusually he was silent and his face had remained buried in the coarse grey hair for some time.  
  
Slowly Elrohir raised his head and looked sadly at Elladan. His face was deathly pale beneath the sweat and grime and silent tears still streamed down his cheeks although his face held no expression, distressed or otherwise.  
  
"We will ride through the night. We shall stop at the banks of the river to do what healing we can." Elladan ordered, surprised that his brother did not argue. Strangely neither felt tired or hungry despite not having slept and having consumed little more than waybread and water in the last week. Elladan felt apprehension that their healing skills would not be enough to cure their mother of even the physical wounds that she had obtained. He should have thought to take a medical pack, they were not even properly equipped. But they had not thought of that.  
  
~*~  
  
It had been a day as any other, the sun setting over the valley, lighting up the reds and yellows of the autumn leaves. They had both finished dressing for dinner, and were strolling along the balconies on a rather long diversion before meeting their father and his advisors. They had felt no guilt at keeping them waiting for as all the young male elves in Imladris knew a group of the youngest female elves were fond of gathering in one of the sunken groves to talk on these evenings. And walking along the west balcony provided the perfect excuse to accidentally notice them. But then just as they had reached their target a weary looking guard had come racing up the steps.  
  
On a whim Elladan had decided to ask whether he could be of assistance, knowing that his father was fully occupied at the time. The message had been jumbled and full of gasps but the twins had only had to hear the words "Celebrian", "captured" and "Redhorn Pass" before they were both flying down the corridors to their rooms. They had barely taken time to fling on their hunting clothes and armour, grab their weapons and fill a water pouch before running to the stables and thundering out of Imladris.  
  
By the time their father even got to hear of the news his sons were long gone, streaking into the night.  
  
But it was a long ride and although they had pushed themselves and their horses to the limit, Elladan somehow doubted that they had arrived in time. Pushing unpleasant thoughts out of his mind with some difficulty, he settled his mother into a secure position and set off after his brother. She was alive, and at the moment that was the best that they could hope for. 


	3. Chapter Three

Thank you for your reviews! They don't exactly make me write any quicker. . . but it's just nice to know that you're there. The Dishwasher: Guards? Oh yes - Elrond would never have allowed them to go without support. He would have had deep reservations about allowing them to go at all. But they did not ask him - I pictured them just running out of the house without thought. There is more on this a few chapters on, so I'll not spoil it by saying more. Emmithar: The other characters are coming. But at present the twins are very much alone.  
  
  
  
The two horses swept over the plain to the river, running in smooth synchrony, the dark hair of their riders streaming out behind them. As they approached the ford they reined in their horses, coming to a stop as if their thoughts and intentions were in unison. Together they leapt off their horses in swift and elegant motion.  
  
Elladan reached out a gloved hand to steady his mother on the tired horse. She needed medical attention and fast. Elrohir did not know it yet, but her breathing was becoming shallow and her pulse was weakening. He also knew that he could not go on much longer without aid. For the past few hours he had felt warm blood trickle in a stream down his chest, and although it was not visible under his armour he knew it was there. He knew what he had to do, but not whether he had the strength to do it.  
  
He wished now that they had not been so foolish, so rash. They should have thought of herbs and blankets. It was obvious that they would need bandages. For a split second Elladan felt like falling to the floor and crying like a child. Why could Elrond or Glorfindel not be there? Someone who would take responsibility and relieve him of this terrible burden.  
  
"Elladan!" From Elrohir's raised tone it was obvious that this had not been the first time he had called. The older twin shook his head slightly and looked up from the ground.  
  
"I shall light a fire. We must warm some water." Elrohir frowned as he spoke. The water should be boiled with carefully selected herbs and roots, but they had no medicines and the water pouches would take little more than gentle warming.  
  
Elladan nodded absentmindedly, eyeing a wider area of the river where the flow was less strong. It would be good to wash, to allow the fresh mountain water to sweep away the sweat, blood and grime. And since hot water was likely to be at a premium it might be wise to attempt a preliminary cleaning of the wounds before dressing them.  
  
"I. . . we shall wash." Elladan reached up to lift his mother down from the horse and patted its dark flank, allowing it to rest. Elrohir nodded his acquiescence; eyes on the ground as he searched through the lush grass for any suitable plants.  
  
~*~  
  
She had not expected this pain. The ache had been growing with every second of freedom. The dull throb had been tolerable, but the sudden shards of pain that now shot down through her body at intervals left her gasping for breath. She did not remember much pain during her capture but now every scratch and bruise was crying out for attention.  
  
Elladan had his back to her, long fingers fumbling behind his back to untie his armour. She should offer to help but she doubted that she could even control her thumbs. Finally he succeeded, the clang of metal on the shingle causing her to wince slightly. His movements were slightly awkward, almost embarrassed to be undressing in front of her. She would have smiled at that, had she been able to smile. It did not seem so very long since the tiny boys had had to be watched during their bath lest they should decide to escape during the corridor and intrude on their father's council.  
  
Something was not right. He seemed determined to face away from her, giving his brother guilty looks, ensuring that he was not watching. Finally when dressed only in leggings and undershirt he waded into the river and sat on a stone, allowing the water to flow around him. Only then did he remove his shirt, dipping it into the water and using it to wipe himself clean. Celebrian was not tricked; the crimson stains on the fabric had been visible even after several dips in the water. Faintly she began to feel alarm, the fear creeping in through her misty consciousness. If Elladan was hiding it from his brother it meant that he was hurt too badly to ride. Or at least thought that he was. They should never have come. Where were the others? Could not more soldiers have been spared?  
  
"Ammë." The voice was still cold, but undeniably that of Elladan. Rather reluctantly Celebrian focused on the figure kneeling by her side, shifting her attention to his bare chest. It was not as bad as she had feared. The wound below his shoulder was deep but the blood was beginning to gel, beginning to heal. His mail had shielded him from most other injuries but when the bruises came up she doubted that he would be comfortable for days.  
  
"Would you. . .I need to. . ." His cheeks flushed and eyes looked to the ground, suddenly appearing quite dark and troubled. Finally he took a deep breath and spoke in a voice devoid of feeling. "Your wounds need to be washed."  
  
Unable to either assist or agree Celebrian sat mutely as he set about his task with surprising gentleness. She could feel his unhappiness and awkwardness while he worked, removing all traces of the blood and filth that covered her body. The grey eyes were kept lowered, not even meeting her own as he gently wiped her face, removing grit and dirt from the grazes. She longed to tell him that she understood. That he was not shaming her in anyway. Elladan would never be a healer at heart. Insisting of doing everything for himself even when physically impossible to do so, he found it as hard to give personal help as it was for him to accept it. She did not think that this would change now. Not until he had a child of his own to love and care for. The sudden wave of emotion hurt so much that she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to be there to see her sons grow up, there when they first brought home a bride. She wanted to know her grandchildren. And there was no reason to take this from her. But they had tried.  
  
Something warm trickled an unsteady path down her cheek. She did not recognise it as her own tear until Elladan reached out, wiping it away with a single finger. He paused and looked at her, halfway through helping her into his own tunic. There was something going through his mind, but what she did not know.  
  
"I love you Ammë." The words were whispered as he kissed her on the forehead. For that he had surprised her. Elladan rarely showed affection. Rarely needed affection. How could he touch her after what happened? He may have washed away the signs as well as he could but he knew. And she knew. She would always know.  
  
~*~  
  
The water was warming now although the search for herbs had been futile. Elrohir let his fingers linger too close to the flames, hoping that this would ease the coldness that had gripped his body. His cheeks were still wet from tears and the breeze made the damp streaks feel cold against his skin.  
  
There had been so many orcs. They had worked together in silence, slaying them in co-ordinated motion in a manner that he could barely remember. It hadn't hurt at the time but now every abused muscle was shrieking its objection. And there was yet a long road ahead. Seven days and seven nights. Hope faded with each day without help and there was no light on the horizon.  
  
Then they had come upon a fork in the passageway and with little time for thought his brother had pushed him in one direction and taken the other himself. Looking back on it he suspected that Elladan had known what road he had taken. The caverns he had cleared had smelt distinctly better than that from which Elladan had rescued their mother.  
  
"Is the water warm?" Elladan reached out for a water pouch. Elrohir barely paid him any attention beyond a glance at the torn flesh on his chest as he eagerly moved over to sit by their mother.  
  
She had not seen what she had looked like earlier, but if this was the best Elladan could do to clean up he was glad that he had not. Her cheeks were pale and hollow and eyes deeply shadowed. Every bone was visible, jutting out painfully from the white skin, highlighted with angry red sores and scratches, or the blue-purple of bruises. The blonde curls, so pale as to appear almost silvery, hung back in damp tangled clumps from her face.  
  
"Oh Ammë." He wrapped her into a gentle hug, holding her while tears ran down his face, splashing onto her bare arms. He was not sure how long he held her, not stirring until Elladan interrupted them, his wound now bound tightly.  
  
"Elrohir." The voice was broken, the pain echoing in every syllable. A firm hand found his shoulder and squeezed. The younger twin looked up at the face so like his own, the jaw set in an expression of defiance but the eyes soft with concern.  
  
"What?" His voice seemed to be filled with an anger that did not belong to him. An unfamiliar jealously, wanting to keep his mother all to himself for whatever time they might have left. The hand recoiled as if stung.  
  
"The wounds must be dressed. Here." The concern was now overwhelmed with hurt. He almost wished that his brother would become angry or excited. That they could fight. With an effort Elrohir shook his head and spoke calmly.  
  
"I am sorry. I am tired." He accepted the water and set about dampening strips of fabric torn from Elladan's undershirt as makeshift bandages.  
  
"Elrohir." Elladan's tone was indecipherable but held some sort of warning that filled his brother with dread. The older twin gently drew back the tunic revealing a long deep wound in his mother's side, the ragged edges a furious red colour.  
  
Elrohir's grey eyes reluctantly moved up to meet the mirror of his own. Something was breaking inside of him and he no longer felt as if he could go on. Both knew what the wound was, and both knew that this was beyond them. 


	4. Chapter Four

Thank you for the reviews! Also big thanks to Arabella Thorne for reading this through and pointing out all the great big ugly bits. So I changed it in places and I think overall it reads better now.  
  
  
  
Elladan sighed deeply, glancing behind him to check on the progress of his brother and mother. For Elrohir had insisted on carrying the all too light burden himself, and Elladan had no longer had the spirit to argue. A deep dread seemed to fill his body, making it difficult to even think sensibly. Now he did not only have to fear losing a mother, he risked losing a brother too.  
  
With the wounds bound and their mother falling into an uneasy world halfway into unconsciousness, they had worked together, attempting to use what healing power they had in the ultimately futile struggle against the poison. They had placed their hands on her chest, identical fingers entangled. And he had given her all he could, passing what strength he could spare to her. And when he had had no more to give, he had broken the grip his heart full of regret.  
  
But Elrohir had continued, his face shadowed in concentration. He had wondered that his brother had still had strength to give, that he would still hold that much more power than he did. Some colour had returned to the pale cheeks and the tender body had relaxed slightly and a little hope had returned to his heart. But then he had looked at his brother, and really seen him, the colour leaving his face and the light fading in his eyes. All his life passing away.  
  
"Elrohir!" His voice had been harsh and the heel of his hand had crashed into the other's chest, knocking him off balance and releasing the grip. "You must not."  
  
And his brother had looked at him, the grey eyes dulled with despair, the mouth twisting into a sad smile.  
  
"Can you not see brother? It does not matter anymore."  
  
Elrohir had broken. He could hear it in his voice, watch it in his movements and feel it in his mind. And Elladan knew that their bond was such that wherever Elrohir went he would follow.  
  
~*~  
  
The rain began during the next night, whipped by the wind into icy sheets crashing into their bodies. Without his cloak his clothes were soon soaked through, the cold providing a welcome numbness from his pain. Soon the ground became muddy underfoot, the horses slipping and stumbling in the dirt and water.  
  
"Elladan, we must halt!" Elrohir called over the noise of the storm, breaking the silence that had fallen on the party since the previous evening.  
  
"We cannot!" Elladan called angrily, his brow furrowed with concentration as he guided his horse along the best path. It was a difficult road in the best of weather, and now with the horses splashing through water it was dangerous.  
  
"We cannot carry on like this." The shout was almost lost in the winds that drove across the mountainside.  
  
"We must." In speaking he lost his concentration and the horse slipped, sending it's rider tumbling into the quagmire. The mud soaked through his clothes, removing all last remnants of warmth from his body.  
  
"Elladan!" Elrohir drew his horse to a sudden halt, just in time to avoid hitting his brother, and dismounted. They had been going fast and although the ground was soft he could still have obtained an injury.  
  
"I am fine." His voice was slightly slurred, the grey eyes focussing with some difficulty, but at least he could stand.  
  
"We are stopping." Elrohir spoke with unusual firmness as he led the horses into shelter under a tree, leaving his brother to limp after him his clothes heavy with caked on mud. Suddenly exhausted Elladan collapsed under the tree to regain his breath, the rough oak bark causing his bruised back to protest. It was true that they could not continue as they had done tonight. And the horses needed rest.  
  
The blanket of fallen leaves was soft beneath their feet and he was content to sit a while, his head slowly clearing from confusion, as he watched his brother spread out cloaks as blankets and settle their mother into a comfortable position. Yes it would be good to sit a while, although he doubted if he would sleep.  
  
Struggling to his feet he wandered out of the shelter of the canopy of leaves and into the pouring rain, hoping to wash off some of the mud that covered his clothes and hair. The gale was blowing harshly and he spread out his arms, embracing the storm, the coldness of the rain and strength of wind refreshing his mind. It was a star-less night, and there was no sight of the moon behind the clouds.  
  
His brother was lying down on the cloak, his body close to his mother's, providing shared comfort. And then it came to him. Elrohir had not come here to rest or even sleep. He was at their side in an instant.  
  
"We ride tonight. We will slow our pace but we do not stop." His voice panicking he ripped the cloak that covered their bodies away and bundled his mother into it, helping her onto the horse.  
  
"No." Elrohir's voice was soft. Sleepy. But there was no sleep to be had on such a cold and wet night.  
  
"Come." Elladan kicked his brother hard in the ribs and dragged him to his feet. "We do not give up hope."  
  
~*~  
  
They road on through the night and the next day, their pace slow but steady. In the back of his mind Elladan could feel his brother's pain, and he knew that the increasing limpness of their mother signified her slow passing from this world. But somehow his agony was easier to bear now.  
  
Something had happened. He had always found it easier to lead others when being stern and firm. But now that was all he was. The heartlessness was all that was left. His body felt like a cold empty shell from which emotion had long departed. But he needed to get home. They needed to get home. And if he listened to his heart they would not have got this far.  
  
Dusk fell, another night without stars, without light. He could remember a night many years before, when their heads still bobbed around below their father's waist.  
  
They had walked all day, scrambling up the rocky slopes of the mountains, sometimes skipping from stone to stone and sometimes being carried. And then as dusk was falling they had reached the peak of the mountain and sat on a cairn and watched as the darkness spread across the land and stars were sprinkled across the sky. Their mother and father had wandered off together and Glorfindel had kept them with him when they wanted to chase off after them. He could remember an arm being placed around each of their shoulders, drawing them into warmth and safety. And then he could remember him speaking, answering some childish comment, the melodic tones with the accent of some long forgotten city.  
  
"The stars are always there. Even when you cannot see them. They never go out."  
  
But there were no stars left now. He had lied. Scowling at the betrayal Elladan called out needlessly over his shoulder.  
  
"We ride on."  
  
~*~  
  
It was so cold. His frozen fingers wrapped round the reins only with difficulty. There was no light, and the riders could do little but trust that the horses knew the way home. Morosely he stared east, in a hopeless wish that he would see the golden glow of the lights of Imladris nestled in the far off hills.  
  
His eyes suddenly wide Elladan took another look. In the gloom of the far hills where there should be no settlement or civilisation there was a small light. A gentle orb of white light, slowly coming closer.  
  
Had he still owned a heart he may have wept for relief, but instead he turned and spoke gladly.  
  
"There is a light Elrohir. There is a star."  
  
~*~  
  
They thundered on across the plains, and as dawn broke the following morning the white glow was still visible in the blue-grey gloom. By now they were so close that riders were visible, hurrying towards them dressed in the mithril mail of Imladris.  
  
Finally they drew close enough to make out individual faces on the riders and soon the two parties came to a halt, mingling into one.  
  
The lead rider dismounted and hurried over, a pale jewel gleaming in the circlet that lay on his blond hair. Seeing the bundle on the nearer horse he strode over, eyes scanning the exhausted faces of the riders for any news.  
  
"She lives." The commanding voice drew some of the best healers in Imladris out of the group.  
  
He gently took the burden into his own arms, drawing back the hood to reveal the pale face. Turning slightly to keep the words he spoke between only himself and the recipient, he touched the bruised cheek, allowing much of what he had to flow into her body.  
  
"I am sorry Celebrian. I am sorry they had to see this."  
  
His face was lined with grief as he handed the fragile body over to one of the waiting healers. Elladan dismounted with urgent haste, trying to follow the party.  
  
"She. . . the wound. . ." He motioned at his side, desperately trying to get them to pay attention. They were not listening. Why would they not understand?  
  
"Hush Elladan. She is in safe hands now." Glorfindel moved over in two swift steps and caught him as he tried to struggle after them. The younger elf tried to push past him for a few moments but then relaxed, allowing himself to be held in the strong arms. "You are safe."  
  
"Glor. . ." The coldness that gripped his body was melting away and his heart was beginning to speak. He wanted someone to hold him and tell him that everything would be all right. He wanted someone to take the burden of responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders. He needed to share the terrible knowledge that he held.  
  
"Peace child." Glorfindel gently drew him into a cuddle, stroking back the muddy hair to look into the familiar face. He had suffered during this journey, more than could yet be understood.  
  
Suddenly Elladan felt an urge to bury his face in Glorfindel's chest as he had done so many times in his childhood and allow his sorrows to flow out freely. Hot tears began to sting in his eyes and he felt his chin begin to crease into tears. Carefully he bent down to rest his forehead on Glorfindel's shoulder, hiding his face from the watching crowd. He could not cry. Not here. Not in front of everyone.  
  
Glorfindel moved slightly to shield Elladan from curious eyes and glanced at one of his officers, asking for privacy.  
  
"It is alright. I am here." Glorfindel allowed one hand to rest on the dark head, patting it gently.  
  
Elladan felt a sudden itchy warmth in his eyes as tears began to form. Emotions were flooding back into his body. He needed to tell someone what he had seen although the words felt dirty and painful to his tongue.  
  
Taking a deep breath he looked upwards only to see the blond elf looking anxiously at his brother. His brother for how much longer? They had not grown up together for this to happen. They were supposed be partners, side by side for an eternity. It was the gift that had been given to them. And this was to be taken away too?  
  
"Elrohir," Elladan's voice broke and he found himself almost unable to say the words. "Elrohir. . . he . . . he did not wish to continue."  
  
Glorfindel continued to stroke his hair, but Elladan could feel the tension that his words had created in the blond elf's body.  
  
"You should. . . I am afraid." With an effort Elladan pulled back from Glorfindel. "Go."  
  
The blue eyes lingered on his face for a moment and a firm hand found his for a squeeze. Then the elf-lord turned in a shapeless billow of white cloak.  
  
Swallowing to try and regain control of his feelings he watched as Glorfindel strode over and embraced his brother, holding him as he sobbed loudly, his clear anguish making the others shift uncomfortably.  
  
He could not help but admire his brother for the courage to allow himself to cry so freely. To not care who was watching. But above all he felt the guilt and envy. Envy that Elrohir should have someone to hold him while he cried and guilt for coveting his brother this small comfort. 


	5. Chapter Five

Haven't done a disclaimer for a while so: As with all of my stories on here, none of this is mine. Characters, settings, events. It all belongs to Tolkien.  
  
Sorry for the long delay in updates.  
  
  
  
Glorfindel strode back though the makeshift camp of resting riders. His entire chest seemed to feel cold, shivers crawling across his back. He had never thought that this could happen. She was so gentle, so innocent. And she had brought so much joy to his friend's life.  
  
He was glad now that he had managed to persuade Elrond against coming. His examination of the wounds would be delayed until they could be cleaned, and a little healing had taken place.  
  
Although it would have been reassuring to have him here now - to know that all that could be done was being done. He had never seen any other suffer pain of this magnitude before. He knew that Elrond was Celebrian's only hope, having seen the terrible wound she had received - and deep down he doubted whether his friend would have this strength.  
  
He did not know whether he had the strength. The laughing figure that had pulled him into a dance under the trees had gone. In her place was a shadow - a fragment. The years that previously seemed to have danced past Celebrian had now come to rest heavily on her broken body. Surely death would have been kinder than this.  
  
~*~  
  
Unknowingly digging his fingernails into his palms, Glorfindel stepped over a discarded bow to reach the twins. He had meant to scold the boys as he had done so many times before. They should have known the effect that their disappearance would have on their father.  
  
They had just been sitting down at the table when the messenger had finally caught up with them. He had been able to feel his friend's irritation at the absence of his sons. It was not as if they, and most of the older elves in Imladris, did not know where they were. Indeed he had had great fun teasing two identically flushed elves about the delightful view from that particular terrace on many occasions. However Elrond had not normally looked upon lateness with a benevolent eye, and judging by the way that his eyes had flashed beneath lowered brows this would not be an exception.  
  
Together they had listened to the news, together with Erestor flanking the Lord's left and right sides. He had not really listened to the exact words that the unfortunate messenger had chosen to relay the information, instead watching the impassive face of his friend. Elrond had taken the news with impressive calm, indeed he would have been surprised at his friend's self- control had he not seen the long fingers gripping the back of a chair so tightly that every joint had paled under the pressure.  
  
Eventually the Lord of Imladris had stirred, his grey eyes suddenly dark, and turned to face him.  
  
"I must tell my children." His face had clearly reflected exactly what he was thinking. How would he break this news to his twins and daughter? No amount of carefully chosen words would soften this blow.  
  
"You must." He had managed to keep calm for Elrond's sake. For their sake. For he loved the family of the Lord of Imladris as dearly as he had loved his own. With a troubled expression the half-elf had nodded and turned, only to look back imploringly.  
  
"Will you come?" The voice had held none of its usual force, instead echoing the tentativeness of an elfling asking for an unlikely favour. But he had agreed - although he would have given much to avoid the moment - for Elrond had clearly needed him there.  
  
~*~  
  
They had escorted Arwen in silence from the dinner table, trying to pay no need to the din of anxious whispers that accompanied their departure. And then, leaving Arwen picking at embroidery in the sitting room under Erestor's supervision, they had searched for the twins. But there had been no sign of the boys, and by the end the absence of the two fine horses from the stables had been a confirmation rather than a shock.  
  
Elrond had stood in one empty stall in silence for a time. And he had been happy to wait for his friend, because he had no wish to voice the thoughts that were running through his head.  
  
"They have ridden after them." Elrond spoke in the disbelieving manner with which he usually dispelled senseless ideas in council. "The two of them alone."  
  
"They cannot have gone far. Let me ride after them." He had wanted to leave that moment. To place himself between the little elflings he had come to love so dearly and the unknown horrors that awaited them.  
  
"I will go." That had been an Elrond he had not seen in a while. The bitterness and determination of the hardened warrior that had seen it all.  
  
"No." He had spoken quickly on a flash of intuition. Elrond should not be there if the worst happened. He could not see that grief through his friend's eyes as well as his own. "You must stay with Arwen."  
  
He had watched his friend hesitate, alternating between the need to comfort his precious Evenstar and the thought of the remainder of his family in pain and danger.  
  
"You cannot leave her Elrond." He had spoken with confidence, hoping that Elrond wouldn't guess at his ulterior motive. But then Elrond knew as well as he what pleasure the orcs would gain in torturing his wife. Taking advantage of the moments hesitation he had begun issuing orders to gather a rescue party to ride immediately. It was not a decision that Elrond should have to make.  
  
And before leaving them, Arwen a crumpled bundle in her father's arms, he had embraced his friend as well as he could and promised to bring the family home safely. But neither had faith in the mercy of the orcs.  
  
He had meant to tell the twins of this - to let them know what grief their actions had brought to their father. But watching them resting on the grass, every muscle weak in defeat, he was unable to find the words to use against them. For now he was just grateful that they still lived.  
  
~*~  
  
Elladan sank down on the meadow grass by his brother's side. He was so tired. When had he last rested? He could no longer remember. But he could not rest now. The world in which he would wake up would be a cold and alien place over which he could have no control. A world in which he would be alone. But if he could just stay awake then maybe he could beg him to stay, to linger just a little longer.  
  
"Your mother is in safe hands now." Glorfindel sat down between them, speaking in the artificially bright voice that meant that he was in too much pain to cope if he acknowledged it's existence. "Are you hungry?"  
  
He was when he thought about it. His entire body felt like it was starved. He tried to nod but it came out as more of a slump of the head. Someone put an arm around him and let him rest his throbbing head on their shoulder.  
  
"You are tired Elladan." The same artificially bright tones, the melody gone from the familiar voice.  
  
He was. He could hardly keep his eyes open.  
  
"Aye." It was more of a mumble than a reply.  
  
"Do you have need of dry clothing?"  
  
Why was he looking at someone's boots? He should lift his head, but he could not.  
  
"We have dried." Elrohir's voice came hazily.  
  
His brother may have but he had not. How could his own twin, his mirror image, be so much warmer than he? But he was not cold, the wetness of his clothes against his skin being comfortingly warm.  
  
"Elladan?" It was a question. He should respond. But he was so very tired. Someone was patting down his arms, testing the fabric. "Aye, you are warm enough."  
  
How could he be warm enough? He was soaked through. He could feel his undershirt clinging in a sticky film to his body. He would have protested but he was so tired.  
  
He could hardly breathe.  
  
He could not breathe.  
  
~*~  
  
Maybe it was best for them to sleep. Their sorrow was still to keen for any healing or counselling. And to have returned so soon they must have had little rest.  
  
But this. . . was this sleep? The steady rhythm of breaths had slowed and faltered. They resumed in a struggling rasp before faltering again - and this time remaining silent.  
  
Glorfindel lowered Elladan to the ground, the panic rising quicker than he would care to admit, and pressed an ear against his chest. The steady orchestra of life had fallen quiet, leaving only the heart to continue in a weak and feeble solo.  
  
What had he done? What foul error of judgement had caused him to leave the child alone? Why had he not demanded that they immediately saw a healer? He knew Elladan - he had always known him. And he should have known that this would happen. It had been in his power to stop this and he had let it pass through his fingers.  
  
No longer knowing whether he still breathed himself, Glorfindel tore off Elladan's clothing and armour, hardly noticing as he ripped his finger open on a sharp edge of metal. That could not all be the child's blood. . . there was too much there.  
  
The sodden shirt was cut off easily enough, followed by bandages that did little more than spread the flow of blood. Stripping off his gloves he pressed down urgently on the wound, blood trickling out from between his fingers. That could not be his voice calling for help. He did not let his desperation show in that manner.  
  
There was a sudden movement at his side. This was not the time for the second son of Elrond to rouse from his dazed state. He should not watch this.  
  
"Elladan. . . Glorfindel he is not breathing!"  
  
As if he did not know.  
  
Glorfindel grabbed at the shaking hands and thrust them down to apply pressure on the wound. Thankfully the flow of blood was now slowing, but he was not sure how much time remained. Praying that Elrohir would be able to maintain his hold, Glorfindel tilted Elladan's head back and bent to breathe for him.  
  
He could taste the salt of dried sweat and the bland earthiness of dirt. And the unique metallic tang of another's blood. The taste of battle - a taste that had remained present for years after Dagorlad.  
  
Raising his head slightly he was relieved to feel the soft stirring of air against his cheek as Elladan managed to take a breath for himself. Sighing with relief Glorfindel sat back, just in time to catch hold of Elladan as he began to choke, bringing up gelatinous masses of dark blood.  
  
This was not the way it should end. 


	6. Chapter Six

Look an update. Thanks for the reviews. :)  
  
  
  
He could not remember being so stiff and cold in his life.  
  
It was dark too, and he could not remember it becoming dark. Someone had lit the candles though, and the half-elf squinted at them as they flickered in the breeze from the window. They had burnt quickly too, for they had been new just yesterday and now wax dripped viscously to the pool at their base.  
  
The movement caused a protesting twinge from a neck that had been held too high, too steady for too long. He shrugged back his shoulders, wincing as the frozen joints stirred from their hunched position.  
  
How long had he been here? A couple of hours? Into the night at least. His robes felt used and crumbled and the ends of his braids were tangled. A bath would warm him - but he was loath to leave Celebrian. Not yet. Not until she woke.  
  
Elrond ran a hand over his wife's pale forehead. The sensation reminded him unpleasantly of the time he had been dared to touch a dead plucked chicken. But Celebrian would live. She had to live. Nothing else made sense. Nothing else was fair.  
  
He had seen to and dressed every wound, every scratch. Some had made him wince, others had sickened him. He had seen them all. He need not wonder anymore. But even the nights of sickly anticipation of the hurts he would heal had not prepared him for reality.  
  
Celebrian's eyelids fluttered slightly, then moved into the half-closed position of elven sleep. Sighing in relief, he sank down on the edge of the bed beside her and stroked a sunken cheek.  
  
"I am here my love. You are safe."  
  
Her nose was still beautiful although bruised and scratched, and as usual she wrinkled it sleepily when disturbed. Maybe things could return to normal. Things should stay as they had been. She had been happy then.  
  
"My. . ." Her voice was a hoarse whisper, spoken from the back of a dry throat. "My boys?"  
  
Blocking out a flash of annoyance that his wife's first thought had been of her sons, Elrond answered.  
  
Or tried to answer. For he knew not where his twins were nor what had become of them. He vaguely remembered Glorfindel coming in and speaking of them, not that he had heard the words. And the blond elf would surely not have come if. . . he was fairly sure that even his friend would have broken at that.  
  
"They are well. So is Arwen."  
  
The broken body relaxed and lay still and silent for a while, until Elrond thought she had fallen asleep.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian swallowed wearily at the bitter dryness in the back of her throat. He would have given her something. Something to make her return to his world. Nobody had asked her.  
  
The flickering candlelight cut harshly down through her eyelashes, causing her head to begin to thump. Sleep would be a welcome break from the pain of a throbbing body, but her mind needed her awake.  
  
Although she was not even sure if her mind was working. Everything seemed so slow and sluggish. She was hardly noticing the time as it hastened past. But she had to know.  
  
Sticky with dried tears, her eyelashes tugged against each other as she blinked her eyes open. They felt gritty and sore, and for a few minutes the brightness of the room was overwhelming. Then, gradually, she was able to focus on her husband's face.  
  
It was the same face. The one she had pictured in the dark. The one she had woken up to every morning for the past few millennia. He was tired - she could see that in the droop of his mouth and the shadows under his eyes - but there was no disgust or contempt in his expression. In fact, there was nothing at all.  
  
Reluctantly, but powered by morbid curiosity, Celebrian let her gaze crawl upwards, until they met those of her husband. She stared into the stormy depths a while, and then when she had found her answer, sunk back to the pillows feigning sleep.  
  
He knew.  
  
~*~  
  
Elrond drifted vaguely through the halls of Imladris, in search of his family. He trusted that Glorfindel would be with them, and Erestor too, no doubt. They had always been there.  
  
Arwen had been with him, he recalled. They had been eating - or rather picking at breakfast on the terrace when the returning party had been sighted. He assumed that they had gone together to wait by the courtyard, for the next thing he remembered was standing in the icy cold, strumming his fingers on the frosted railing. They had not halted to don cloaks or shawls, and he had watched his fingertips turn blue as they stood in that courtyard in the spitting rain, his daughter shivering alongside him.  
  
And then they had galloped into the courtyard, moving so frustratingly slowly that he had been tempted to claw his face off just to relieve the tension. He had made his way over to Glorfindel's horse where a cloaked figure was slumped - it had been difficult getting there, maybe he had stepped on something. There had been a strange expression on the blond elf's face, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to ponder that fact. All he had wanted was to have his wife back in his arms.  
  
And then it had been nighttime. It was strange but he could not remember the day passing. Maybe he didn't want to.  
  
~*~  
  
Glorfindel yawned, stretching his arms out over the back of the bench. He had been there too long - either sitting watching or stretched out to sleep. He had no intention of leaving the children, especially not while their father seemed oblivious to their existence. Even the Evenstar had been trampled in Elrond's preoccupation.  
  
Leaning over to adjust the soft light from the lantern, he gathered up his bundle of papers and leant back, stretching his legs out before him as he read. Occasionally the blue eyes would pause in their skimming of the page, and he would glance up to check on the three sleeping children.  
  
Arwen was sleeping on the other bench, her head resting on Erestor's shoulder. She had been intermittently sniffling and sobbing since her mother had returned, something that left Glorfindel decidedly uncomfortable. He had been happy to allow Erestor to comfort her, removing the guilt for his own inability to provide support. He had never been good at dealing with tears.  
  
The door hinges creaked, causing the blond elf to look up in time to see Elrond enter. He appeared tired . . . exhausted and dazed, but there was still light in the grey eyes. Glorfindel relaxed, his mind filled with silent thanks for the Valar. They had been in time. The twins' sacrifice had not been in vain then.  
  
"Celebrian wishes to know how the twins fare." Elrond said by way of explanation, leaning heavily against the doorframe.  
  
Glorfindel smiled grimly at his friend. Celebrian had always prioritised her role as a mother.  
  
"They have been stable these past three days."  
  
Elrond froze, his eyes turning to the two occupied beds. His two sons lay there, as still as he could ever remember. Both faces were pale and relaxed in sleep, their dark hair lying loose over the pillows.  
  
"Three days?" Elrond asked in disbelief. It could not have been that long. He would never have left his children alone for that long.  
  
"Three days." Glorfindel confirmed.  
  
Cringing at the unspoken accusation of neglect, the half-elf made his way to stand between his twins. It must have been that he was so very tired, but he could not tell one from the other. That had not happened before.  
  
"They are exhausted, but they will recover in time." Glorfindel took pity on his friend. He did not blame him for saving his wife first. "Elladan is still a little the paler."  
  
Dark eyes glared at the blond elf. To loose track of the twins was bad enough, but to have another know. . .  
  
"He lost quite a bit of blood." Glorfindel continued smoothly, his voice bouncy and bright. "But all is now well." 


	7. Chapter Seven

I like this chapter better than the last one. I think. I was on safer ground writing it anyway. Thanks for the reviews. Suggestions for improvements would be good too.  
  
~*~  
  
They were together again. Maybe not quite as close as before - maybe too close to see the distance. But they were together.  
  
They had lain side by side in the infirmary for what had seemed an eternity, his brother's hand in his, fingers interlocked. He had felt the hardened skin on the other's palm, and knew that the same was true of his own. They had been training for this for a lifetime, but in the end what good had it done.  
  
He could almost remember that first summer with swords. Tumbling over onto the lush grass, and running to their father for a hug, and Glorfindel laughing. It had felt so safe then. Their father had been big enough to do anything, defeat anyone. But now he was so powerless and his pain burned deeply from his eyes.  
  
And now they were walking through the halls, on their way to train. His body was weaker than he remembered, pale and tired. It would take a while to rebuild the muscle and regain the strength, but he would do it. And then they would kill every orc that drew breath.  
  
They were walking side by side; heads held arrogantly high, faces carefully expressionless. They were passing people, their friends and acquaintances of their previous lives. Everybody knew the Sons of Elrond. Everybody knew that a son should protect his mother.  
  
The whispered or muttered condolences did not bother him, but he could feel his brother tense whenever another strayed into his path, speaking of their sincere best wishes without ever once meeting their eyes. What distressed him were his mother's friends, those who she would have stood by and fallen by. Who were passing by without a word, who had not thought to query on her wellbeing, who had not even visited. Did they think that by failing to mention it, it would be any less real? He wanted to grab them and knock their heads together until they saw sense, until they agreed with him. Or until they perished. He did not care which.  
  
"Praise to the Valar, your mother is safe. Iluvatar must have been watching over you."  
  
He could feel his brother stiffen, fists clenching for defence. He wanted to grab him by the arm and run the pair of them from that place. But they could not.  
  
"Mercy has been granted to the people of Imladris." Someone muttered. "Praise. . ."  
  
Elrohir started and began striding out of the hall, before whirling round and hoisting the speaker into the air by the neck.  
  
"Look me in the eye." His voice was icy cold and painfully deliberate.  
  
The unfortunate elf made a choking noise.  
  
"I said look me in the eye!" His voice rose and the grip tightened. Elladan made a quick grasp at his brother as dozens of eyes swivelled to look at them. Elrohir didn't do this. He would never make a scene like this.  
  
But Elrohir didn't seem to be paying much attention to what he did and did not do. His eyes gleamed with a hunger and hurt that was alien to Elladan, and he fought off his brother with a vicious elbow.  
  
"Look me in the eye and say something you mean!" Elrohir dropped the elf into a crumpled heap, kicking out angrily at the fallen body. "Look me in the eye and tell me the truth!"  
  
Gasping for breath Elladan stared at his brother as he paced uncomfortably, like the wildcat whose nest they had once stumbled upon as children.  
  
"Not one of you can tell me the truth." Elrohir said loudly and calmly. "Not one of you will say what happened. But it has happened nevertheless."  
  
He strode over to a young maid, trying to gather up the basket of newly harvested apples that she had dropped in her surprise.  
  
"Perhaps you can say it. Celebrian, my mother and Lady of your house, was kidnapped by orcs. And tortured. And tormented. Can you say that?" He knelt down to look the maid in the eye. "Can you imagine it?"  
  
The maid opened and shut her mouth, stumbling away from Elrohir on her hands and knees.  
  
"Perhaps we could call it suffering. Would that be easier for you? My mother suffered." Elrohir spat out the final word with contempt, before springing to his feet to scream, "Say it!".  
  
Tears were running down her face now, and too frightened to speak or rise to her feet, she grovelled among the spilt apples.  
  
"Elrohir." Elladan roughly took his brother's arm. "Come, let us leave."  
  
"But brother, I do not wish to leave." Elrohir spoke mockingly, spinning round and waving to indicate the assembled throng. "Perhaps these dear people would like to speak to us."  
  
There was a terrified silence as Elrohir shook off his brother's arm and began pacing the hall. It had not escaped anyone's notice that unlike most inhabitants of Imladris, the twins were currently armed.  
  
"Perhaps they would like to tell us to give praise to the Valar?" Elrohir's voice returned to calm and he watched the crowd, waiting for one of them to make a move. Eventually one shuffled and opened his mouth.  
  
"Why should I praise those who have done nothing!" The angry twin bellowed, punching at an invisible target. "Why should I give thanks for a deed not done!"  
  
There was an angry murmur from the crowd.  
  
"You say Iluvatar was watching. He watched as our mother was captured. He watched her scream and cry without offering hope or mercy." His voice was definitely breaking now, and the last words wobbled. His mouth didn't want to stop quivering to make the next words. "She had done nothing. Nothing!"  
  
He was definitely crying now. Silent tears poured down his cheeks without him ever knowing they had been formed. His nose was running, and he made an angry swipe at it with his sleeve.  
  
"Iluvatar is watching." Elrohir screamed his words almost unintelligible under the sobs. "He is watching but he does not care!"  
  
And then the storm was over as suddenly as it had begun, and Elrohir was sunken onto the floor, crouched into a ball with his head resting on his knees, rocking to-and-fro, his body wracked by sobs.  
  
~*~  
  
"Ada! Ad-ad-adi!" The tiny child had called; gripping her delicately embroidered blankets tightly against the fear in the night.  
  
It had not been truly dark as she recalled, her crib had been placed close to the window, and the soft glow had covered the floor of the flet with the moving shadows of Mallorn leaves.  
  
She had run her hands fretfully over the smooth pale wood of her crib, not pacified by the carved swans and flowers. There had been no response, no noise, and no indication that anyone had heard.  
  
But she did not call again, and soon there were soft noises and careful hands had lifted her and wrapped her snugly in her favourite blanket. She had pressed her ear against his chest, and let the steady pounding of his heartbeat lull her back to sleep.  
  
She had once been a tiny child. She had once had a father who could make everything better. Who would always be there. Who loved his little daughter more than anything.  
  
Shivering despite the warmth, Celebrian wrapped her arms around herself, trying to recreate the security of that hug. Closing her eyes she could almost smell the clean wool of the blanket, and the lingering aroma of leaves and woodsap from her father's clothes. But she was still cold inside.  
  
She wanted to be safe again. She wanted someone to tell her not to worry, and that everything was going to be all right. And she wanted to believe them.  
  
All she wanted was to feel safe. How could that be too much to ask?  
  
The pale face crumpled into quiet tears.  
  
"Adar, I want you. I want you so much." 


	8. Chapter Eight

This is Lord of the Rings fanfiction. The characters and settings are not mine and belong to Tolkien.  
  
I know I have not updated this for. . . ever, really. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I just ended up with an overdose of Celebrian. I'll be updating regularly from now on. (Regularly for me that is.) Thanks to everyone who has reviewed before, especially people who have reviewed when I haven't been updating for ages!  
  
~*~  
  
Time was passing, somewhere outside those windows. The air grew colder, crisper - and sometimes smelt of wood smoke or sweet sap from newly cut trees. The leaves of the forests that blanketed the valley were changing colour again, leaving the bright reds and yellows behind, and turning into browns and oranges. The winds were picking up, and the leaves were tossed aside, leaving the bare skeletons of sticks and branches.  
  
They would all come and sit with her, at times. She was seldom alone now. But it made no real difference. She could be standing in a crowd of her friends and family, and not one would be able to come close to where she really was.  
  
~*~  
  
Elrohir would sit on the end of the bed, patting his hand against her blanket covered legs as he spoke. He would speak on and on about matters of little importance, the changing colours of the woodlands in the valley, the new foal in the stables, the first frosts of autumn. Sometimes she could even detect a faint breathlessness in his tone, as if he was afraid of pausing to think of what he really wished to say.  
  
Often she did not wish to speak herself, and lay back with closed eyes, letting Elrohir's pictures fill her mind. As usual her younger son could bring peace, but at times, when his voice caught or she caught him staring down pensively at the sheets, she wondered if he really still saw the world in the wonderful colours and sounds he spoke of.  
  
He was like his father in that respect, never speaking of what troubled him.  
  
Elrond was wonderful. He was always wonderful. Always there. It was he who would gently redress her wounds, help her wash and dress while still letting her retain her dignity, and hold her through the night. On the outside at least, he was cool and calm, making sure that she was comfortable and had everything that she wished for. But inside. . . he had to be hurting, at least as much as she was. They had long felt these things together and stood side by side as they watched them pass. He would not show it though. He had had too much practice at hiding his feelings.  
  
And then there was Arwen, their precious Evenstar. She was seldom out of their room, sitting on the window-seat sewing or reading, always doing something. Often she would sing, hoping that her voice would raise her mother's spirits just as it raised her own. She was trying hard.  
  
Occasionally she would come across with her cloth and show what delicate beauty she had been working on. That was hard, for Celebrian's hands were still too weak to manoeuvre needle and thread safely, but she would have dearly loved to take up her embroidery again and lose herself in intricate stitching and varying shades of pinks and yellows and greens.  
  
Glorfindel and Erestor would come too, and sit and talk awhile when her family could not be with her. Not when they were not family themselves.  
  
Erestor was apprehensive, nervous, but would sit close to her and gently take her hand in his, rubbing it with his thumb. He would speak of the weather, or would bring a book and read aloud from her favourite tales and lays, and through them she again began to feel joy and sadness.  
  
Glorfindel was as ever, himself. He had come striding in one morning and sat astride the chair facing her bed, chin resting on folded arms, and had looked at her for a long time before finally speaking. And then he had not given her pity, or pretended that she was as well as he was.  
  
"You were captured by orcs, Celebrian." He had said, and when she had closed her damp eyes and turned her face away, he had added. "The pain will fade, and in time you will forget. Pain. . . this pain, you do not understand this."  
  
She had not replied, and he had not spoken of it again, instead sitting back with a slight smile as he recalled happy memories. Most she knew, but there were some that she had not yet heard. Elrohir and his flute, Arwen dressed up in her father's riding boots, tales of the times when she had only just met her husband. For this she loved him, but she could not live in the past forever.  
  
Elladan would come everyday at the same time, and he would sit for one awkward hour on the window ledge, one leg hanging down into the flower borders on the terrace outside. These were hours of brooding silence, and Celebrian would watch her son's face as he thought, eyes dark and troubled and mouth frozen in a permanent scowl. He could not or would not think of anything to say, save for occasional dutiful comments in much the same tone as he would issue orders. Was she comfortable? Did she want some water? Could he fetch anything? She had tried to reach out to him, to pierce the wall that he had built between them, but so far all attempts had been unsuccessful. She was too weak to even walk over and hold him, and he was too much Elladan to initiate the movement himself.  
  
She would have to wait.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian tentatively swung her legs out of the bed, supporting herself heavily on the chairs and small tables as she made her way over to the mirror.  
  
She had always been fond of that mirror - she had had a similar one in Lorien - with flowers and stars carved in the honey coloured wood of the frame. She remembered how apprehensive she had been about coming to live in Imladris, as part of Elrond's family. How she had been afraid that she would not be able to settle in his house - would not be able to find rest in his room.  
  
And then, after the ceremony, as she had tentatively entered their room, she had seen a parcel on the bed. She had unfolded the thin silk wrapping and inside was a mirror, finer even than the one at her home - her childhood home - and purely for her enjoyment.  
  
Sitting down heavily on the small stool, and wincing as the motion pulled on her healing wounds, Celebrian rested her tired arms on the dressing table and idly traced around the tendrils of honeysuckle and roses on the circular frame.  
  
It was just as beautiful as if had ever been, but the wood no longer reminded her of rich honey poured on warm bread. Rather, it was the shade of the creeping fungus that had grown in the shadows of damp rock. She could recall the smell - earthy with a hint of fishiness.  
  
Shuddering, she suddenly held her breath, and sprayed the fresh autumn air with perfume, only relaxing when the room was filled by an unbearably strong scent of roses.  
  
~*~  
  
Glorfindel tore up the steps from the training grounds, hoping to get back to the Lord of Imladris' study in time to work through some of the backlog of papers and problems before dinner. He would gladly have skipped sustenance to work of the matters of the valley, but that was not an option.  
  
The people of the valley needed a leader now more than ever, someone to follow, someone to believe in. The Lord of Imladris was far too busy tending to his wife, tempting her with anything that could possibly persuade her to consume something.  
  
The twins were nowhere to be seen. Elrohir rarely ventured into public places now, and sometimes Glorfindel wondered if the younger twin intended to leave the community altogether. He seemed to gain little pleasure now from the halls, or feasts, or company. Elladan - Glorfindel stopped and turned on the path to look back down at the training fields - Elladan had become rather one-sided of late. Some might even say obsessed.  
  
As he had expected, the older twin was still visible down in the training fields, face surly in its concentration as he spoke to a group of rangers. It would do the boy good to get away from there. It would do the people of the valley good to see at least one son of Elrond at the table. He could not subdue all the evil whispers and rumours alone.  
  
~*~  
  
"Elladan!" Glorfindel called loudly as he strode among the crowd of rangers to reach the half-elf.  
  
The men parted frustratingly slowly, murmuring unclearly through their dark beards. Eventually he was able to see Elladan, scowling fiercely as he practised some new sword move with a heavily built ranger.  
  
It hurt him slightly to see the elfling he had trained since he had been little above knee-high, adopting such moves - mortal tactics that relied more on brute force than skill. There was no beauty or grace in the way the blades danced, each stroke and thrust purely designed to inflict maximum injury. They did not even seem to be aiming, instead attempting to batter the other into submission through their armour.  
  
"Elladan!" Glorfindel halted a few feet away from the pair and raised his eyebrows. "Your presence is required."  
  
The half-elf felled his opponent with a mighty blow to the chest, which Glorfindel thought must surely have cracked some ribs, and rested on the hilt of his sword.  
  
"Where?" Elladan's voice was surly and he wiped sweat from his face with the filthy sleeve of his tunic.  
  
"At dinner." Glorfindel said firmly, face calm while his eyes dared the boy to defy him.  
  
"Dinner?" Elladan said scornfully, turning back slightly to look at the crowd of men behind him, his smile mocking. "I am required to attend dinner?"  
  
Resisting the urge to give the child a hard thump, Glorfindel turned away and headed back to the path, calling behind him, "I shall be waiting."  
  
~*~  
  
Regretting his words suddenly, Elladan sheathed his sword and set off at a run after the blond elf. Much as he wished he could, he could not make everything that had been before disappear with a wish and a curse.  
  
Glorfindel was obviously in a temper, for he was storming up the steps at a fine rate, and it was difficult for the half-elf to catch up. By the time his boots hit the same step as those of his mentor he was drawing in air in painful gasps, each breath sending darts of pain through his chest. Warm sticky liquid was trickling from the old gash in his chest, and he hated himself for that weakness.  
  
"Glor." His pain and breathlessness were clearly audible in his voice, and Glorfindel turned to look at him with humiliating concern.  
  
"I am glad that you have decided to join me." The blond elf's stern face cracked into a grin, and he placed his arm around Elladan's shoulders, allowing the half-elf to relax into it without actually admitting that he needed support. "You are a heavy burden, Elladan. I have no intention of carrying you into that infirmary again."  
  
Elladan smiled ruefully, "No."  
  
Taking this as the closest he would get to an agreement to be more careful, Glorfindel smiled slightly. "I need your help, Elladan. The valley looks for a leader. Your father is indisposed."  
  
Elladan gave the blond elf a sudden sharp look, "And you doubt your capability of taking on such a task?"  
  
His tone spoke of suspicion of some ulterior motive, some trick. Glorfindel sighed. Elladan was right of course, he was perfectly capable of leading the valley for a while, and the main reason for his suggestion was to take Elladan's mind off vengeance. The other reason was not something that he wished to discuss at present.  
  
"Naturally not, but it is not I that they look to." Glorfindel gave Elladan a sly look out of the corner of his eye. "It is your duty. You are the first born son. They look to you now."  
  
"Cannot Elrohir take on the task?" Elladan asked grumpily, hunching his shoulders in such a manner that Glorfindel knew that he had already decided what he must do. "My time can be better used on other. . . duties."  
  
"And what duties might these be?" Glorfindel asked doubtfully, and received a look that confirmed his worst suspicions. "Elladan. . ."  
  
"I will. . ." Elladan declared forcefully, his eyes burning with a dark anger, only to be cut off by Glorfindel pressing two fingers to his lips.  
  
"Take no oaths, Elladan." Glorfindel said gravely, then lifted his finger and tapped Elladan on the nose. "No good will come of it."  
  
~*~  
  
Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. If you have time please let me know what you thought! 


	9. Chapter Nine

This is Lord of the Rings fanfiction. The characters and settings are not mine and belong to Tolkien.  
  
~*~  
  
Glorfindel flung his cloak around his shoulders and used one hand to lift his heavy mass of wet hair so that the golden strands fell down on the dark wool of his cloak rather than soaking a warm wet patch through the back of his tunic. It was a bitterly cold morning in Imladris, cold enough for even elves to seek out warmth - especially when they had just stepped from a steaming bath into the frosty air.  
  
It was early in the morning as yet, and still dark enough to cause him to light the candles on his dresser. Most of the Last Homely House lay in sleepy silence, but he could hear small noises from the next door room, indicating that Erestor too was awake and moving.  
  
Others would be up too, of course. The silent and unnoticed elves that kept Imladris running from day to day: the elves that lit the fires in the halls every morning and kept the flames in the Hall of Fire burning, the maidens who would be milking the cows and gathering eggs, and the stable boys feeding the horses. There would be people in the kitchens too, baking the fresh bread they would enjoy for breakfast and pouring the milk into jugs. Perhaps he could persuade Erestor to take a detour via the kitchens. Nobody could work well on an empty stomach.  
  
He sat down on the edge of his bed and began lacing up his boots, practised fingers dancing easily between the leather cords. They had been getting up like this every morning since. . . since Celebrian had returned. The days had blurred into some sort of busy continuum of fitting in the running of Imladris and attempting to support the troubled family, whilst also fitting in enough public appearances to convince their people that all was going smoothly.  
  
They did not appear very convinced so far. There was a lot of muttering going on, and Elrond's continued absence from table had been noticed. The spirit of the elves of the valley was waning, and he seemed to be able to do nothing to stop it.  
  
~*~  
  
Elladan stood alone on the practice fields, some distance before a target. The ground was covered by a silvery sheen of frost that was only broken by his light footsteps. The moon was still visible as a pale ball in the sky, and the few clouds were tinged with the pink of dawn.  
  
His breath came out as misty puffs, and the sweat from his exertions trickled down his face in cold droplets. He had been out here a while now, in a seemingly endless cycle of grabbing an arrow, fitting it to his bow, drawing back the bowstring and releasing it with a sharp swish. Occasionally he would halt to retrieve his arrows or tighten his bowstring, but his whole concentration was on aim. The neck, the heart, the head. He would pick a target and set loose, and then when his arrows were spent, stride over and yank them from the target's straw body much as one would pluck a chicken or a goose.  
  
Beneath the leather of his glove the skin was rubbing off his palm, and he doubted that there was much left on his fingers except blisters, but still he continued. He did not seem able to stop. He might need the practice later. There was no knowing when your skills might be held up to judgement. After a while the pain had stopped bothering him anyway.  
  
The sound of voices making their way down the path though the woods disturbed him, and the next arrow missed the target's head by inches, whistling slightly as it flew to a resting place somewhere in the trees at the edge of the training fields. Cursing, Elladan kicked angrily at a dead leaf on the ground, swung his bow over his shoulder and went to hunt for his arrow.  
  
It was colder and shadier under the trees, and the ground was covered with frosted leaves in shades of red, brown and orange. Crisp with ice, they crunched under his boots as he walked. His grey eyes scanned the ground and bushes for the grey-blue tail feathers of his arrow, and for a while his concentration was on little else.  
  
Eventually he found it, lodged among the branches of an especially prickly holly. He slotted the arrow back into the quiver, noticing the bright red berries that were already forming among the dark green leaves. Midwinter was approaching, but it would not be a joyful one - not this year.  
  
On a whim he picked a cluster and tucked them into a pouch on his belt. He had fond memories of gathering berries and winter leaves for the Midwinter decorations as a very young child, and it had always brought his mother joy to see the first of the berries or snowdrops that they would bring home.  
  
Scowling at the memory he began crunching his way back to the training fields, kicking aside the frozen leaves with uncharacteristic disrespect. The sound of voices brought him back to the present, and he stopped suddenly near the edge of the forest, hidden behind some trees.  
  
Some archers of the Imladris Guard had arrived for their morning training session, and were currently setting up the targets to their specifications. Glad that he had thought to collect his arrows before venturing into the woods, Elladan turned and prepared to make his way back to the house. He had no desire to meet anyone else at this time.  
  
The sound of his name caused him to halt again, and lean warily against the tree, listening to what was being said.  
  
"Aye, his mother was close to perishing. It is no wonder that his spirit has broken." A voice said in a low, conspiratorial tone.  
  
"It was not his spirit that I referred to!" Someone yelled cheerfully. "His sanity, more likely. It is his mortal blood for sure."  
  
There was a vague sound of disagreement and someone eventually spoke up, "He is grieving. Perhaps it is natural for those of his bloodline."  
  
There was a hint of doubtfulness in the assertion, and the argument did not stand up for long.  
  
"He fights against invisible enemies, and trains night and day. I have heard it said that he speaks to his weapons, and sees us all through a sheen of blood."  
  
"Aye," said someone secretively, "In the kitchens it is said that when you see him from the side, his eyes appear quite black."  
  
There was a murmuring from the other soldiers, and the voice that had supported him earlier ventured hesitantly, "It is not natural, certainly. In practice, I have heard that he did not stop after his partner surrendered. Nimras had to be stitched from his wrist to his elbow."  
  
There was a collection of horrified gasps, while Elladan rolled his eyes and mouthed something about arrogant fools who neglected their gloves and wrist guards.  
  
"I pity Lord Elrond," said another, looking around for support. "One son a hermit, the other a mad-man."  
  
"Aye, and he too having little desire to lead us. He has been absent for weeks."  
  
"If he and his lady pass over the sea, who then shall we look to." Someone suggested provocatively. "A blood-thirsty vengeance seeker, blinded by his own insanity? Or a spiritless broken soul?"  
  
"Perhaps. . ." One of the leaders began hesitantly.  
  
Not liking the way the conversation was turning, Elladan clenched his hands into fists. He had heard the rumours about his brother's hermit-like existence before now, whispers that his spirit had broken, tales of others who had become secluded through grief. But the stories about him were new.  
  
And rather amusing actually.  
  
Elladan stepped out of the shadows of the trees, and seeing the shocked expressions of the soldiers before him, proceeded to laugh loudly and merrily.  
  
~*~  
  
Glorfindel slowed and let Erestor cross in front of him to fetch some papers from the library. The chief counsellor began rummaging through some documents left on the desks after yesterday's midnight meeting and Glorfindel continued down the corridor to Elrond's study, chewing thoughtfully on some warm bread.  
  
He could feel someone else's presence as soon as he opened the door, but it was not until he had warily lit the lamp by the door that he could see the shadow sitting at the desk clearly.  
  
"Peredhil?" Glorfindel's voice rose in surprise and he crossed the room to stand at his friend's side. Elrond was sitting silently with his head in his hands, staring at some upside-down papers without really seeing them. Glorfindel carefully placed his hand on the half-elf's back and spoke more loudly. "Elrond?"  
  
The Lord of Imladris started and looked up at Glorfindel with an expression reminiscent of a child caught where he should not be.  
  
"You do not need to be here. We are managing well. Go to Celebrian." Glorfindel felt justified in the untruth if it helped ease his friend's mind. Elrond made no attempt to move, and the blond elf felt the panic rise inside him. "Cel? She is not unwell?"  
  
"No," Elrond shook his head slightly, "She is better again today."  
  
Glorfindel let out a great sigh of relief.  
  
"I just needed to sit. To think." Elrond sounded so uncertain that the blond elf wanted to throw his arms around him. "May I stay here?"  
  
"Aye, of course you may." Glorfindel squeezed his friend's shoulder tightly, and tried to make a joke of it. "It is your study after all. You could throw me out if you wished to!"  
  
~*~  
  
"Elrohir!" Elladan marched smartly into his brother's room without knocking and dumped his bow and quiver of arrows on the chair. "It is time to rise!"  
  
There had been a time when he would have filled his hands with icy water and poured it on his brother's cheek to see him wake in sudden shock, but it did not seem suitable at this moment. Elrohir's face was not rosy and warm, but pale and shadowed and Elladan did not doubt that if he touched it his skin would feel cold and waxy.  
  
Elrohir opened his eyes, and gave his brother a look of exhaustion.  
  
"Come, the sun is up." Elladan tilted his head towards the window where the early morning rays were struggling to make their way through the fabric Elrohir had drawn across the glass. "The bell will soon chime for breakfast."  
  
"Ammë?" Elrohir seemed to surface to enquire anxiously after his mother.  
  
"She is well." Elladan said calmly. "Breakfast?"  
  
The brightness that had momentarily been in Elrohir's eyes faded and he sank back into the bed.  
  
"I shall eat here." The younger twin said in a toneless voice. "When I rise."  
  
"Elrohir, come." Elladan's voice tinged on pleading as he walked over to take his brother's hand. "We should like to see you."  
  
"I shall see Ammë later." Elrohir emotionless eyes met his brother's frustrated ones. "I see no need to eat fruit and honey with those who have no understanding of what I have seen."  
  
Elladan clenched his jaw against his impending temper, and tried to speak calmly. It was not as if he had not tried his best to protect his brother, but he could not have carried the whole burden himself.  
  
"The people of the valley look for a leader. Ada is indisposed. We owe them this." Elladan said passionately.  
  
"I am not stopping you, brother." Elrohir said, a dangerous tone creeping into his artificial calm. "Go. Serve your people. I am sure that they will appreciate it."  
  
"I do not wish to go alone." Elladan swallowed his pride, and pleaded to his brother. "I gain strength when you are at my side."  
  
Elrohir looked at his brother coldly, and no longer caring how much his words would hurt his twin, spoke bitterly. "You have gained much from being the elder son, brother, and I have suffered for the same cause. Now it is time to pay."  
  
Elladan looked at him in silence for a few seconds, only the narrowing of his eyes betraying his feelings. Then he grabbed his weapons from the chair and strode from the room, allowing the door to slam shut behind him.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian sat up against the pillows, attempting to brush her hair. It was rather harder than she had imagined, for her arms had become thin and weak during her ordeal, but the feeling of achievement alone was worth the effort. It was so good to be able to do something for herself again, even if her movements were slow and awkward at present.  
  
It had surprised her how easily the dirt and blood had washed out of the curls. Her hair spread across the pillow in waves of shining silver-blonde, as fresh and new as winter sunlight on snow - showing no sign of what it had experienced or seen. Her bruises were also healing, and as her strength grew her skin regained its peachy glow. Even the terrible wound in her side was knitting together, and it no longer pained her as much.  
  
She had always been a fighter. Never one to cry for a scratch or a scrape.  
  
But inside, things still seemed to breaking. Maybe because she no longer had to block out the memories to survive, and could instead analyse them at length, trying to rationalise the behaviour.  
  
She had considered the times of pain, suffering and despair, but it was not that that bothered her. More disturbing had been that night - just one nameless dark night out of many. She must have been there a while at that point, for she had drawn little attention, huddled in the corner as she was.  
  
And the orcs - the enemy - had appeared normal, kind almost. They had gathered around a fire and roasted meat, and talked amongst themselves. At least she had assumed that they were talking, for she could not understand much of their speech. They had tended to their wounded with a gentleness that had surprised her, and had shared flasks of drink in a manner more similar to elves than animals. They had seemed to have guards and an organised roster for watch duty, and those that were at rest chanted rough tunes around the fire.  
  
It was not the cruelty and torment that had broken her, but the knowledge that the creatures that were responsible could understand the pain they caused.  
  
~*~  
  
Elladan arranged his circlet on his head, and hurried towards the dining hall. The long flowing gown felt light and loose after the weeks spent in armour and riding clothes, and the silver circlet was comfortingly heavy on his braided hair.  
  
Although both he and his brother owned circlets similar to that of his father, they seldom wore them, except for special festivals or feasts. They had been gifted with them on the feast of their majority, and since then they had mostly resided in ornately carved wooden boxes in their rooms. His was adorned with stars, and his brother's with leaves. He could still remember the expression on his brother's face as they had received different gifts.  
  
He imagined that he had had a similar look himself.  
  
As he entered the hall, many faces turned to look at him. Expecting no doubt to see him grieving, or bent over with sorrow. Or perhaps foaming at the mouth with his eyes darting around like a trapped and frightened animal. Resisting the desire to put on a show for his doubters' benefit, Elladan nodded his thanks to the elf at the door and greeted his people with a calm smile and a quiet "Good morning."  
  
He could feel the expectant eyes following him as he walked among the tables to the dais. Passing by his usual seat, he smiled at Glorfindel and took his father's place in the great chair at the end of the table.  
  
Ignoring the dubious looks and anxious whispers, Elladan picked up his knife and fork and spoke in a clear voice that rang confidently through the hall.  
  
"Shall we begin?"  
  
~*~  
  
Ah. . . I hoped you enjoyed it! If you have time please review and let me know what you thought.  
  
Also, can I beg for good luck and happy thoughts? I have scans soon and hopefully results later this week. If they go wrong again I'm so seriously screwed that I can't even think of a stupid joke to make about it. So any spare luck would be much appreciated. Thanks! 


	10. Chapter Ten

Sorry this took so long. The chapter is rather lengthy though to make up for it. Is that a good excuse for not bothering to cut? Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed!  
  
~*~  
  
It was dark in the bedchamber, the cloaks that had been draped across the windows blocking out the brightness of the stars and the full moon. Little was visible through the gloom except the dark head amongst the paleness of the pillows and rumpled bedcovers.  
  
The sleeping elf was tossing and turning fitfully, rapidly getting tangled in the sheets and blankets. His lids had been fluttering slightly in his uneasy sleep and they suddenly shot open, his eyes but two deep dark pools in his white face.  
  
Elrohir sat with a jerk, unfurling tightly clenched fingers from around crumpled fistfuls of blankets. His body was damp with sweat and his hair was sticking to his face, wisping up slightly with each struggling gasp for breath. He could not remember what his dream had involved, but the feelings of fear and helplessness lingered even after waking.  
  
They were growing even now he was free from the dream world. The familiar shadows of the wardrobe and chair seemed to be changing and taking shape. . .  
  
Shaking his head to dispel the images that were forming there, Elrohir tried to keep his breathing steady, swung his legs onto the floor and huddled on the edge of the mattress. His nightshirt had started to feel cold and clammy, and he shivered compulsively as he wrapped his arms around his body for warmth and comfort.  
  
He could feel his heart pounding desperately against his ribcage, and his chest lurching arhythmically up and down with each gasp for breath. He had not been able to count his ribs so just a few months ago, surely. He would not been so shaken by a mere dream.  
  
Moving without the customary grace of his people, the younger twin got to his feet and shakily made his way over to the window. He drew aside the fabric and tugged open the wooden frame, allowing the crisp night air to flow into the warmth of the room. It would snow before long, and the dark air was still and silent.  
  
It was a cloudless night outside, the stars seeming to be extraordinarily bright above the dark outlines of the trees and the mountains. One star seemed to be sparkling particularly brightly over the valley as it had since his childhood, its shine not diminished by the pain and grief that overwhelmed him.  
  
Angry tears filling his eyes, Elrohir turned away from the window and kicked at the dark clump of his cloak on the floor. What did he know anyway? He was protected from such things, safe in the west. Sailing the skies, looking down on the people of Middle-earth, the Silmaril gleaming shamelessly from his brow. Did it not see the families weeping? Did it not find its spirit dimmed?  
  
The half-elf stumbled back to his bed and perched on the edge of the mattress, his strong fingers digging into the soft blankets. He had thought that he could smell blood. He was almost sure that he could taste the metallic tang at the back of his mouth. It was strange how the scent lingered.  
  
He had thought that that journey would never end. Even Glorfindel's spirit had been waning at the end, stumbling as he had dismounted and leaning heavily against Asfaloth as he caught his breath. He had watched him sitting beside the fire on those hazy nights, staring into the flames, eyes dark under the bright gleam of his hair. Bargaining with his soul.  
  
Maybe the journey would not ever end. The road that they travelled had changed and he did not know where it led. He was not even sure that he was on the road any more.  
  
The door swung silently open, and a slim figure seemed to glide softly across the room to stand at the younger twin's side. A slender hand was laid softly on his shaking shoulder, and squeezed comfortingly.  
  
Elrohir looked up soullessly, his eyes large and empty under the dark lashes. His sister. She would try to help him, attempt to heal his soul. She always had tried to make things better. She would not succeed, for he would never speak of the hurt with her - but it gave her purpose to try. Her nightdress was pure white in the moonlight, trimmed with the silky embroidered flowers and fruit that their mother loved.  
  
He could remember Elladan's badly disguised horror at wearing garments with similar decoration on his day of initiation into the Imladris Guard. He could remember how he had teased his brother mercilessly and how Arwen had tried not to laugh.  
  
Elrohir blinked, and nodded stiffly, signifying his acquiescence to her company. Arwen did not smile, merely sitting down beside him, her weight causing the mattress to dip under him tilting the pair closer together. She felt warm and comforting, like his mother had once been. He could remember the three of them sitting in the rocking chair by the window so many years ago, he and his brother snuggled up against their mother's body as she had brushed their hair and sung to them. Everything had been so safe and secure then. Letting out a shuddering sigh, Elrohir leant his head against his sister's shoulder, letting her soft curls brush against his sweaty forehead.  
  
Arwen wrapped her arm around his back and patted his shoulder gently. It was strange how strong and muscular he felt now, for she still thought of him as her brother - the one who had showed her the blackbird's nest and had held her hand when she had jumped from the diving rock - not as a bloodthirsty warrior. She did not believe that he could hurt anyone, but now some of her friends had been murmuring that they had been warned to keep clear of the Sons of Elrond. Nobody knew how the half-elven twins would react.  
  
She had ignored them as fully as she could, but the whispered threats and dark rumours had crept their way into her thoughts. She had been unable to prevent flinching when the door had been slammed shut with a clap that had sent a plate off the wall, and she no longer could embroider placidly as Elladan whirled knifes or sharpened swords.  
  
She knew that they were not dangerous. But yet. . .  
  
~*~  
  
Erestor peered over the slanting desk at which he was working through the remaining pile of papers, and glanced disapprovingly at the two elves standing by the window. Outnumbered now by those who did not wish to undertake serious and problematic matters in a serious and thoughtful manner, the windows had been flung open and baskets of bread rolls and dishes of jam, butter and honey were scattered across the desks. Elladan and Glorfindel were standing close together, talking rather loudly as they thumbed through a sheaf of jam-stained papers. With a guilty little jump of glee, Erestor realised that Elrond's eldest son was now slightly taller than the Balrog-slayer. A small triumph maybe, but a most satisfying one, for an elf that had become used to being towered over by two mighty warriors.  
  
"I shall ride out this afternoon. . ." Elladan declared energetically, his pensive scowl disappearing at the thought of action.  
  
Glorfindel frowned slightly, and Erestor nearly laughed. Elladan had thrown his heart and soul into the running of the valley, and it amused him to see Glorfindel having to subdue someone even more impulsive and eager than himself. The younger elf was a breath of fresh air in the study, offering ideas and taking on the most menial tasks with good spirit, but he was not his father. The three older elves had become well tuned with each other during their years together, knowing each other's rhythms and thoughts before they spoke or took action. The past few days had been characterised by many bumps, spills and interruptions as Elladan had failed to respond in the manner expected of his father.  
  
"It shall reinstate them as part of the community. They cannot have confidence in a leader that they do not see." Elladan spoke passionately, and moved to face the blond elf, squaring his shoulders ready for an argument. "You would not run the Guard in such a manner."  
  
Glorfindel predictably stepped closer to the younger elf and eyed him appraisingly, then shaking his head slightly, stepped back and raised his eyebrows. "Elladan, Elladan. . . the valley is a community, not an army."  
  
Erestor shifted nervously and gave Glorfindel a grim look. While the Balrog- slayer had managed to avoid direct confrontation, he had not been able to resist the mocking tone. In his time here Glorfindel's good nature, Elrond's refusal to become agitated and his own steadfast calm had prevented small irritations from becoming cause for bloodshed. With two such hotheaded elves though, Erestor suspected that the atmosphere would come a little strained before long.  
  
Elladan's eyes narrowed, and for a short moment Erestor thought that he could see all the worst of Galadriel and Elrond in that grey glare.  
  
"Perhaps it would be well to treat our people with the respect you show to our soldiers." Elladan spoke with excessive calm. "Perhaps it would inspire loyalty. . ."  
  
This time it was the blue eyes that narrowed into angry slits, and Glorfindel's mouth drew into a thin line.  
  
"Now," Erestor shot to his feet and hurried across to the two confrontational elves, positioning himself between them, "It cannot harm to try."  
  
Catching Erestor's eye, Glorfindel stepped back with an exasperated huff and relaxed his aggressive stance. He should not have allowed himself to rise to the bait, for he knew that lately that he had been far too sensitive of any criticism - implied or otherwise - of the way that he organised the Imladris Guard. While he and Elladan got along well on the training fields, it seemed that their egos could not both fit comfortably into even the most spacious study. It would not help to have internal conflict amongst the counsellors now, when the valley most needed steady leadership.  
  
"It cannot." Glorfindel confirmed, slapping a friendly hand on Elladan's shoulder heavily enough to send him stumbling forwards. "Go. I am sure that the foresters will appreciate it."  
  
Elladan regained his footing and glared at the blond elf, although his tone had become rather more playful. "If we do not march as one. . ."  
  
Glorfindel sighed loudly, and reached out an arm to draw the elder twin into a rough hug for a moment before releasing him. "Aye. Aye. . . we shall see."  
  
Taking advantage of the momentary truce, Erestor bustled across the room to burden them with a mountain of parchment and an impromptu council on the fish and meat stocks for the winter, hoping to unite the pair in their shared hatred of paperwork before the argument could re-ignite. They would be the best of friends again once they left the confines of the study, but for now, an important part of ensuring the smooth running of the valley was keeping the pair from each other's throats.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian woke slowly, enjoying the warm peace of her bed before the memories could invade her sleepy happiness. It was a beautiful winter's morning - frosty and crisp, and the sun bright in the cloudless sky. Mist was rising over the skeletons of the trees and the few remaining straggly leaves, and for the first time that season, the snow that covered the Misty Mountains had extended down to powder the lower slopes and hillsides.  
  
She felt well today, in a way that she had not thought that she would feel again. Perhaps it was her dream that had cheered her so. Lingering images of white sands, bright sunshine on green leaves and ripened grain, the brilliant blue of a clear sky, and happy voices singing and laughing. Lately such dreams had been happening more and more frequently, chasing away the black shadows of the caves.  
  
As she sat up in bed and wrapped a soft cape around her thin shoulders, Celebrian bent to kiss her husband's cheek and ran her fingers through his hair. He had grown paler and thinner of late, and fine lines were forming around his eyes and mouth.  
  
His eyes flickered open, the clear grey almost immediately clouding over and darkening with anxiety. It had not even been like this during the days before their sons' birth. She wished that she did not have to burden him so. It hardly seemed fair after all he had suffered and seen. When they had made their vows she had added a silent pledge to protect him from what she could, and to let him have the happy family that had been taken from him.  
  
"Celebrian. You are well?"  
  
She could feel his eyes scanning her face, searching for any sign of pain or distress. His hand had reached up to touch her chest, trying to sense any injuries or hidden trauma.  
  
"I am well." She kissed him again, taking his hand in hers. It was strange how much easier it was to move closer to him when holding onto the remaining threads of the dreams. "Very well."  
  
Elrond looked worriedly at her for a second and then, realising that her smile was genuine and lit with real pleasure, matched it with a rather tentative grin.  
  
"Today. . ." Celebrian rolled over to hug her husband, and beamed with triumph and delight. "Today is beautiful."  
  
~*~  
  
The day was beautiful. The grass of the northern training fields had been sprinkled with a little snow, and the bare oak trees that bordered the training ground shone silver as the winter sun fell on the frosty limbs. The pale frosted grass was trampled in patches where the soldiers were practicing fencing, the green coming through in darkening patches under the elves' rapidly moving feet.  
  
Elladan stalked among the practising pairs, offering criticism and comments as he observed their technique and weaknesses. He was very young as yet for a captain of the Guard and he was acutely aware of Glorfindel leading a training group on the other side of the field. Probably sharing the same field by design. The blond elf seemed to consider it his duty to keep an eye on him. It seemed to have passed the notice of most of the elves of Imladris that he and Elrohir were no longer nine-year-old elflings.  
  
He spent a few moments longer explaining and demonstrating a move to some of the youngest and least skilled of the elves under his command, and then, realising that Glorfindel's group had ceased their exercises some minutes before, stood up rapidly.  
  
"Halt!" He was uncomfortably aware of the Balrog-slayer watching him with a rather smug - if small - smile, and was unsettled enough to be a little late in calling his group to attention and dismissing them.  
  
The streams of soldiers passed away across the grass, joining the path and merging into one long line with those soldiers that trained with and were under the command of other captains. As the mass of grey cloaks and gleaming mail passed into the shadows of the trees, Elladan turned to face Glorfindel, who was strolling casually towards him.  
  
"My Lord." Elladan dipped his head in formal greeting, and stood straight- backed as he awaited formalities. Although they had known each other since his birth, Elladan still had to conform to all the usual expectations and traditions of a captain.  
  
"At ease." Glorfindel smiled rather distractedly as he sheathed his sword, and began unbuckling his wrist guards. "The training went well."  
  
Unsure whether this was a question or a statement, Elladan nodded and made a grunt that could be interpreted in any way that the blond elf chose.  
  
Glorfindel grinned, and paused in pulling off his protective leather gloves to look thoughtfully at the elder twin.  
  
"Any problems?"  
  
Elladan looked at him dubiously, before reminding himself that this was a routine question asked of all captains.  
  
"No. . ." There was little point in mentioning the troubling whispers and rumours that made his position difficult. He should not be bothered by the slight hesitations in obeying his commands, or the insolence that one or two of the elves had displayed.  
  
Glorfindel noticed the pause, but did not press the point. He had always been available for the twins if they had wanted him, and he trusted that Elladan would seek him out when he was ready to talk. He tried to be available for all those under his command.  
  
"Your group is maintaining their attendance? It has been an unsettling time."  
  
His tone was so bland and calm that Elladan knew immediately what he was referring to. Elrohir still trained under Glorfindel's command, where they had both been assigned following their initiation into the Guard. Elrohir had never been as driven as he had been, and had seen no hurry to progress through the chain of command. He was still happy being a nameless nobody, being ordered by someone else - allowing his life to rest in another's hands.  
  
"Aye." Elladan sighed, and looked at Glorfindel, his expression troubled. "Elrohir?"  
  
"He has not attempted training for some weeks." The blond elf sighed, and stared across the field to the snow-covered hills and distant mountains. "You have heard the whispers?"  
  
Elladan did not speak for a moment, then nodded slowly, his eyes on the ground. He had hoped to keep such troubles from the ears of his father, and if Glorfindel knew. . .  
  
"I do not believe that your father is yet worried." Glorfindel frowned as he watched the younger elf's face, and reached out to draw him close. "This is not for you to bear, Elladan. Not alone."  
  
The half-elf shrugged off the embrace, then leant back against Glorfindel's body, needing the comfort as much as he wished that he did not.  
  
"He will come. He will recover. . ." Elladan paused and turned to look at Glorfindel's sceptical face, adding defiantly, "It will just take time."  
  
~*~  
  
"Elrohir." Elladan made his way noisily into his brother's room, halting abruptly and raising his eyebrows as he saw his sister sitting with her arm protectively around his twin. "I see you are already awake!"  
  
Elrohir's eyes rose briefly to meet his twin's before sinking back to his bare knees. Both he and his sister were still in their nightclothes, and they had both become cold during the long night.  
  
"It is time you rose." Elladan stated firmly, crossing his arms across his chest and standing with his feet wide apart.  
  
Elrohir did not respond, but Arwen tightened her grip on his shoulder.  
  
"He is resting still, Elladan. He did not sleep well." Her voice was soft and held its usual sweetness, but there was an unusual rigidity in the words she spoke.  
  
"He has been resting for well on a month now." Elladan stated, raising his eyebrows incredulously in an attempt to taunt his brother into action. "Do not tell me that he is still too weak to train."  
  
Frowning slightly at her brother's tone and the stressed 'too weak', Arwen got to her feet and walked over to the elder twin's side. He was still hot and sweaty from training, his muscles tense under the creased tunic and leggings. Close to, she could feel the aura of taut energy shifting as he transferred his weight from foot to foot - intense and ready to snap.  
  
"Come, let us go to breakfast." Arwen murmured softly, placing a hand firmly around her elder brother's mail-clad arm, and tried to lead him from the room.  
  
"Yes. Breakfast." Elladan said calmly, easily shaking off his sister's hold to stride across the room to the bedside. "Come Elrohir. Brother! You may dine in your nightclothes."  
  
The elder twin grabbed the younger twin, and attempted to drag him from the bed. Gasping in surprise at the force with which Elladan was gripping Elrohir's arm, Arwen rushed over and tried to hold the elder twin's wrist steady.  
  
"No, Elladan. Do not." Arwen dug her fingernails deep into Elladan's arm - a technique she had adopted as a child, finding it the only reliable way of fending off tickling hands - however it made little impression through his thick tunic sleeves.  
  
Elrohir struggled furiously, using his free hand to hit out at anything that was and was not within his reach.  
  
"Go. . ." The younger twin kicked off the remainder of his bedclothes and tried to hold onto the mattress to avoid being pulled onto the floor.  
  
"You must. . ." Elladan's shout was abruptly cut off as Elrohir's foot collided with full force with his knee, and he staggered backwards, releasing his hold on his brother's arm.  
  
"Stop! You must stop!" Arwen shouted, her voice high-pitched in worry. Elrohir had just scrambled back onto the bed and was glaring darkly at his brother, and Arwen sat down beside him, wrapping her arms protectively around his chest.  
  
Elladan stumbled into the wooden doors of his brother's dresser, accidentally sweeping a pile of towels to the ground as he fumbled for a hold.  
  
"You must come." He struggled to his feet but did not approach his brother, aware of the depth of his anger, and afraid of what he might do to anyone that came between them.  
  
"No." Elrohir said blandly, knowing that this would aggravate his brother far more than any unkind or vicious retort.  
  
Elladan's face darkened, and he balled his hands into fists. Why could he not see that he had to do this? That he was trying to help him.  
  
"They do not think you will recover!" Elladan cried out in despair, kicking one of Elrohir's boots with enough force to send if flying across the room. "You must at least try! You cannot give up now. . . you cannot."  
  
Suddenly seeing the bright tears of frustration in her brother's eyes, Arwen released the younger twin from her hug, and held out an arm for her elder brother.  
  
"Elladan. . ."  
  
The sympathy and understanding in her voice only served to increase her brother's anger. If nothing else, the half-elf could not stand to be pitied. Especially not for such a sign of weakness.  
  
"I wish I could fight this for you, I wish I could." Elladan bellowed, picking a glass of water up from the dresser and flinging it towards the wall where it smashed in a silver explosion of shards of glass and droplets of water. "But I cannot. I cannot do that, Elrohir.  
  
Neither of his siblings replied, and the eldest son of Elrond spun abruptly on his feet and stalked out of the room, clapping the door shut behind him.  
  
~*~  
  
"I will be fine." Celebrian smiled at her husband, and stood on tiptoes to give him a goodbye kiss. He had insisted on accompanying her to the doors of the large chamber where, by tradition, many of the female elves gathered to embroider or weave as they spoke of their families and homes. She had known that he would.  
  
He had been as frustratingly insistent as the days of their children's births had approached. Worried, no doubt, that she might enter labour between their sitting room and the southern halls. As if she would be without aid from the dozens of elves who had spent the previous months offering advice, a friendly ear, and gifts of tiny blankets and garments. She had learnt much from the experienced mothers in this room, listening to all that was said as she embroidered flowers and leaves onto a variety of impossibly small tunics and nightshirts.  
  
"You will be." Elrond confirmed, drawing her into a comforting hug, then adding anxiously, "You do not wish me to stay?"  
  
"I will be fine." Celebrian repeated patiently, a playful smile teasing the corners of her mouth. She could see one of her friends through the open doorway, half hidden behind a loom, and the quiet murmur of familiar voices made her feel surprisingly happy.  
  
"I shall come and meet you." The Lord of Imladris added firmly. "Then we may have our meal, before resting."  
  
Celebrian smiled softly at him, but made no comment. She had every intention of sampling the delicious food in the elegant setting of Elrond's hall tonight, but decided that it would be better not to spring too many new ideas on him at once. Her husband could become very stubborn when he felt that too many matters were sailing out of his control.  
  
~*~  
  
The log split cleanly under the axe's blade, the wood releasing a faint scent of summer wood sap into the frosty air. It was bitterly cold up here in the northernmost reaches of the valley, and the ground in the glade was frozen hard and had a good covering of snow.  
  
A large fire had been lit in the centre of the clearing, and a number of elves were seated on the tree stumps that surrounded it, warming their hands and sipping mugs of a steaming drink. Piles of freshly cut logs lay at intervals around the clearing, ready to be loaded onto carts or sleds to be taken elsewhere in the valley.  
  
Elladan was glad of the brightness of the fire and the lingering smell of wood smoke, or he doubted that he would have been able to find the elves among the dense forests of the mountainside. The foresters patrolled and managed the woods around the refuge - not border guards as such, but if any person or creature managed to slip past the watchers on the edges of the valley they seldom travelled more than a few miles into the woods.  
  
They were a strange and silent folk, dressed in shades of greys and browns and their hair loose around their shoulders. They had greeted his arrival with little more than a few curious looks and a momentary break in the rhythm of axes against wood. They had stood aside when he had dismounted, allowing him to tether his horse and pass amongst them to reach a very ancient elf that was standing in wait for him.  
  
He had not spoken at first, merely handing Elladan an axe and directing him towards a pile of roughly hewn logs. As the younger lord of Imladris set to chopping them into smaller chunks suitable for use in domestic fires, the wood elf watched him closely. Eventually, the younger elf having completed the task to his satisfaction, the old elf leant his weight against the wooden shaft of his axe and waited for Elladan to pause. The half-elf was attacking the logs as if they were orcs, putting all his anger and frustration into each swing of the axe.  
  
"Come." The elf spoke at last, and nodded towards two unoccupied tree stumps close to the fire. "You have not come here to freeze."  
  
Elladan stopped abruptly, wiped the sweaty handle of the axe with the cuff of his shirt, and handed it to the young elf that had appeared from nowhere to relieve him. In return he was given a thick pottery mug filled with a creamy liquid that smelt sweet and spicy, and led to the fireside.  
  
"Greetings." The half-elf settled himself onto the cold wood of the tree stump and hugged his knees to his chest for warmth. He took advantage of the momentary pause in conversation as he took a large swig from his mug to survey his counterpart. The old elf was dressed like all the other foresters, and his rusty coloured tunic was covered in bits of bark and wood chippings, but Elladan suspected that he would have been able to identify him as the leader even if the others had not stood aside. There was something in the way that he held himself that reminded him of Glorfindel and his grandparents and others that had been mighty in ages past, and his face held great wisdom.  
  
"Greetings." The elf nodded slowly then leant over to slap Elladan on the back as he turned pink and began to cough at the taste of the drink. "It shall warm you."  
  
Elladan wiped his streaming eyes and took another cautious sip. "Indeed."  
  
The wood elf took a gulp of the drink, and looked at him appraisingly. "It has been long since we have had visitors."  
  
"Aye." Elladan said carefully, hoping to change the focus to the fact that he was visiting them now, rather than the long time during which they had taken the foresters for granted. There was something about the ancient elf's bright eyes that unsettled him. "It is high time for counsel."  
  
The old elf nodded smoothly, then looked hard at the elder twin. "Yet you are not Lord Elrond himself."  
  
"I represent my father." Elladan said quickly, then realising that his tone may have sounded over-aggressive, introduced himself. "I am Elladan, eldest of the Sons of Elrond."  
  
The forester made no comment, but his expression softened slightly. He had recognised the visitor as one of the sons of the valley before the rider had even entered the glade, but had been waiting for the half-elf to announce his presence.  
  
"All is going well with the wood stocks." Elladan said, trying to think back over the documents that he had been perusing that morning but only getting a vivid mental image of his sister's face looking at him with horror and fear. "There is plenty in the cellars, and the forge and dairies are well supplied."  
  
The forester grunted and nodded, hiding his amusement admirably as he took another gulp of his drink. He had no understanding of why the elf lords of the Noldor insisted on creating records and paperwork out of the simplest tasks. Any one the foresters could have provided a concise approximation of the amount of firewood required during the winter, and confirmed how much had already been supplied. "You rode out alone."  
  
The comment had sounded quite innocuous, but the forester watched with interest as the half-elf froze momentarily then turned to glare at him, chin resting on his balled fist. The dark brows had drawn together, and his voice was carefully without soul or tone.  
  
"It was my mother."  
  
"Aye." The forester paused, noticing the way that the half-elf had dipped his head forwards allowing his loose hair and thin braids to fall over his eyes. "So it was."  
  
Unsure of how to respond to this, Elladan picked a few angular wood chippings from the bare ground and began piling them on each other, trying to model a deer or horse.  
  
"You saw things that you would rather you had not." The forester spoke in a low voice, intended for only the half-elf and himself. He had seen such things once, done things that he would regret for the duration of Arda. He would not wield a sword again.  
  
"It was worthwhile." Elladan declared too loudly, drawing several curious stares in their direction. Lowering his voice, he leant forwards and repeated himself with almost pitiful insistence. "It was worthwhile."  
  
The older elf waited for a moment, watching how the young elf-lord remained tense and angry, waiting for him to come to judgement.  
  
"I do not doubt it." The forester spoke calmly, and Elladan's shoulders sagged in relief at the confirmation of his beliefs. Sighing deeply, he tucked some of the curtain of dark hair back behind a pointed ear. He did not know why the opinion of this strange elf mattered to him, but it did.  
  
The old elf reached out to brush the back of two fingers against the half- elf's jaw. He sensed that the younger elf was teetering on a knife-edge, struggling to come to terms with what he had done and seen. "Do not deny yourself the hurt and fear, child. It will do no good in the end."  
  
Elladan drew back, his voice suddenly becoming uncertain. "I. . ."  
  
The forester held up his hand for silence, then gestured round at the surrounding trees.  
  
"I remember when these trees were young and fragile - yet saplings. I remember the harsh winter gales howling through these woods, tearing down those that had not laid roots deep enough, and snapping others that grew too high. I remember the summer fires spreading through the woodland, scorching their trunks and branches. Many did not grow again. And now. . ." The elf sighed, then took a deep breath, looking around at the thick trunks and wide canopy of the mature trees. "Now we burn them. Yet come next spring, there will be fresh saplings, growing in the new light. They will be trampled and stripped by the wandering deer, and others will wither and die in the first winter frosts. But in time. . . time is a great healer."  
  
Elladan scowled at the ground, shaking his head vigorously. The memories were still so strong, so intense and hurtful. "I shall never forget. . ."  
  
"No," The forester said patiently, then rose smoothly to his feet and offered the half-elf a hand, "but in time you shall remember less often."  
  
~*~  
  
Elrond wandered aimlessly through the halls of Imladris, suddenly aware that he had nothing to do and nobody to worry about. It was a strange feeling after the weeks of constant anxiety and fear. It reminded him somewhat of the first time he and Celebrian had walked the boys to training, leaving them in the watchful care of the training master. There was the same mixture of joy and sadness.  
  
He felt lost without Celebrian after the weeks they had spent side by side. It seemed unnatural that she should not be walking alongside him, leaning on his arm or talking in her gentle voice. Perhaps he should go and seek out Erestor. The outstanding reports and documents were bound to take his mind from needless anxiety about his wife, and there would doubtless be plenty of them to capture his attention.  
  
He should see Glorfindel too. It had been a long time since he had talked informally or joked with his friend, and the Balrog-slayer had never failed to lift his spirits. He could not remember the last time that they had gone this long without speaking, save the first few awkward weeks after their introduction. He had known that the blond elf would be waiting for him should he ever wish to talk, and perhaps for that reason he had never sought him out before. But now he needed the company badly.  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian bit her lip in concentration as she matched a bright red thread against the other flowers in the border of the nightdress that she was decorating. It had become her tradition to give each of her children some special garment each Midwinter, embroidered with patterns that she knew that they would enjoy. She liked to think of her boys having some reminder of home even during the long and dangerous periods they spent out in the wild, especially now.  
  
She had been late starting this year, but she was determined to finish before Midwinter's morning if it was the only thing she did between now and then. All three children had always loved the Midwinter festival, and she hoped that it would be able to coax the now rare smiles to their lips.  
  
There would be a nightdress for Arwen, of course. She had always enjoyed making clothes for her daughter, and although Arwen was now a fully-grown elf-maiden and objected to having buttercups and daisies sewn onto her ribbons and skirts, Celebrian still loved designing the colourful borders and chains of silken flowers.  
  
The boys were rather harder to choose for. Usually she would decorate the collars and cuffs of their shirts and under-tunics with patterns of stars and autumn leaves, but this year she thought she might make something a little more permanent. The twins, and Elladan especially, had a way of wearing out garments rather quickly. It would have hurt her to think that if she had not returned home they would have had little to remember her by.  
  
The Lady of Imladris shook her head slightly and rethreaded her needle with a golden yellow, ready to begin carefully outlining the paler primrose of the centre of her flowers. It was lucky that she had plenty to do, for her companions had not been the distraction that she had thought they would be.  
  
In fact, they had barely spoken.  
  
The atmosphere of the room was shifty and almost unbearably tense from words not spoken. Whenever she bent her head to concentrate on a stitch or to search through her basket for a particular shade of silk thread, she could feel their eyes resting upon her, assessing her every move - but when she looked up again, not one face was turned to hers.  
  
They had smiled at her when she had come in, and had looked pleased when she had taken her customary place at the corner of one of the window-seats, but after that things had become more difficult. She had commented on a beautiful pattern that a friend of hers was sewing, and had received numerous compliments on her few stitches in return. There had been a smattering of polite conversation about the baby blackbirds that had nested outside the window the previous spring, and now another recently married maiden was talking about a tune that she had learnt.  
  
It seemed almost as if they were playing some sort of verbal party game, each eager not to be left talking when she raised her head. Even some of her closest friends - friends that she would have stood by to the end if necessary - seemed to have nothing to say. Hoping, no doubt, that if they did not mention it, the dark shadow in their midst would cease to exist.  
  
She added a few stitches of pale pink to highlight some lilac petals, and began knotting off the thread. It would not be wise to speak. Her mother would never have done such a thing. But then her mother had never lived through such a thing.  
  
"None of you have told me how you spent your autumn." Celebrian spoke softly, smiling slightly as she untangled some skeins of thread. "Shall I take the first turn?"  
  
Her companions looked at each other awkwardly, trying not to appear as if they were actually doing so. Their anxiety and discomfort was clear in their eyes, but for once, Celebrian did not care.  
  
"May I start?" She began placing her threads and pins into her basket, and tied the ribbon that held the thread box shut with an elaborate bow. "Not one of you have asked me about it."  
  
There was an uncomfortable mumbling from one corner of the room, and while some of her friends looked down, their faces shadowed with shame, others were bright-eyed with forbidden interest and morbid curiosity.  
  
"Do not be afraid to speak of it. I will not remember what you said, or how you fumbled to find the words to use. I will not even remember how you did not meet my eyes, or how you struggled to avoid the words that you feared to speak." Celebrian tucked her embroidery back into her basket and got to feet, looking around levelly at her old friends. "I would have only remembered that you spoke to me."  
  
~*~  
  
Thanks for reading! If you have time please leave comments, criticism, whatever. This chapter dedicated to those special people who knew me for seventeen years only to be struck dumb by a single word. Hmm. . . 


	11. Chapter Eleven

I know, a long time without an update. I will finish this now, in the next few days. There are maybe two chapters left. Most of it is written I think. Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone that has reviewed the last chapter.  
  
I'm not that sure about this chapter, so all feedback is very, very welcome!  
  
~*~  
  
Celebrian was smiling as she slept, expressions of joy and peace playing across her face as her half-lidded eyes danced in elven-dreams. She was relaxed and restful amidst the pillows, arms entwined with those of her husband as they lay sleepily together. Having woken a few minutes beforehand, Elrond stayed still, smiling a little as he watched his wife drift from slumber into the stillness of the morning. The nights were more peaceful now.  
  
"Elrond?" Celebrian blinked her eyes open and smiled rather blearily at him, still slightly confused and disorientated from sleep.  
  
"It is a fine morning." Elrond smiled at his wife and propped himself up on one elbow to lean over and greet her with a kiss. "You had pleasant dreams?"  
  
Celebrian started slightly and looked at her husband suspiciously, her expression quickly changing to one of guilt. She had thought that she had been able to disguise her hopes and dreams, but they had never been able to keep secrets from each other. Sometimes she felt that she knew Elrond better than she knew herself.  
  
"I have dreams. Dreams of happiness." Celebrian admitted, squinting in the early morning sunlight. She rolled over and brushed some tangled silver- blonde curls from her face before turning anxiously to her husband and speaking quietly, "Elrond, I do not think that I am dreaming of these lands."  
  
She fell silent and looked down at the blanket, fingering the crocheted lace trim on the coverlet. She could feel Elrond breathing, chest moving up and down in time as he tried to think of words to say. Although she did not meet his eyes, she could imagine his dark brows drawn a little closer together, and his grey eyes rather troubled and distant.  
  
"You may. . . you should. . ." Elrond faltered and broke off, swallowing hard as he quickly blinked several times. He had been expecting this, waiting for it. But now it had been spoken aloud he seemed left without words to speak. The responses that he had prepared and troubled over suddenly seemed inadequate and weak. He was a healer and had guided others through this journey many a time, but he had not expected to feel as it did now.  
  
"Follow your heart, Celebrian. Choose wisely, but go where your spirit guides you." Elrond resumed rather more strongly although his voice was tight with pain, taking Celebrian's hand in his and squeezing too tightly. "You will always have my blessing."  
  
Celebrian remained silent for a long while, staring at the clean white fabric of the nightshirt spread over her husband's chest. Then almost as if she were not really there ventured, "But what of Arwen and our boys? What of Ammë?"  
  
Her mother would never return to her homeland. She had seen and done things that even Ages of sorrow and regret could not fully heal, and she still had desires that were undiminished throughout the long years. Her father would stay with her mother until the end, that Celebrian did not doubt, but to be alone. . .  
  
"What of us?" Celebrian turned desperately to Elrond, blue eyes begging for a response that she knew that he could not give. "I do not wish to spend an eternity alone."  
  
"I. . . we. . ." Elrond swallowed uncomfortably. His nose seemed to be becoming hot and stuffy and his throat was sore. He had anticipated this, prepared for the sorrow and grief, but now he felt blank and distant, as if he were a mere spectator watching from afar. He brought Celebrian's hand up to his face and pressed his lips to her fingers. "I must linger, but I shall seek you when I may."  
  
He could feel her shaking although she made no sound, hot tears threading down her face to create damp patches on the pure white of the pillows. He wanted to tell her to stay, to have faith that things would become better, that her joy in this world would return, but he could not lie. Strengthening his resolve he added in a gruff voice. "You cannot linger when your spirit would leave, Celebrian. It will not listen to another's bidding for long. Not to me and not to our children. Even your mother does not have this power."  
  
Celebrian fell silent a moment, thinking of Galadriel. If she departed these shores it would be farewell for an eternity, until the ends of the Ages. And although her mother revelled in her own strengths, she did not have the power to make things the way they were, and Celebrian suspected that this would finally do what millennia of wars and loss had not.  
  
"The twins - they have made sacrifices, parted with things that they could ill afford to give. I cannot throw that away, Elrond." Celebrian stroked a half-curled finger along his cheekbone, hoping to offer some comfort through her tears. He needed her here, and she feared that if he lost another that he loved, he would close his heart and no longer allow himself to love and trust. But it was the twins that she worried for most. She had seen them sinking into darkness and despair, clinging desperately to the hope that it all had been worthwhile. "It. . . I fear I am all they have left to hold onto."  
  
"Do not stay on their. . . not on our behalf." Elrond forced the words from his lips, hastily correcting himself lest Celebrian guess of his thoughts. It was a terrible thing to be jealous of one's own sons, but the thought that his wife considered them before him seemed to be festering inside him. "This gift is not theirs to take away."  
  
Celebrian took a deep gulping breath, her body shaking with silent sobs. "But I have taken something that I should never have asked of them. It is not mine to give away."  
  
~*~  
  
The pass was almost impassable at this time in winter, gusts of winds blowing harshly down from Caradhras and piling the snow in great drifts. The snow was deep, even for the elves that had beaten the difficult path through the narrow cleft, and the even the horses were finding the going difficult. The travellers had stopped awhile, huddling around a small fire and sharing a flask of miruvor. All were wary, never forgetting what had passed on this narrow road just months before, and though they spoke quietly, they dared not call out or sing. Finally, as the last of the embers lost their glow and the wind seized on the ash and scattered it over the snow, they rose and prepared to depart.  
  
"Galadriel?" Celeborn pivoted on one foot, looking around over the hooded heads of the elves of Lorien for any sign of his wife. She had been at his side just a minute ago, but he could catch no glimpse of the golden curls blowing out from under a hood of silver-grey. "Galadriel!"  
  
Eyes darkening with anxiety, Celeborn sprang up onto a high boulder and looked around him, shielding his eyes against the glare of the sun. The snow stretched out pure and unsullied on either side of him, even the path that they had carved earlier being buried under the blown snow, and thankfully there was no sign of a disturbance.  
  
"Galadriel!" The Lord of Lorien bellowed, his voice ringing desperately over the smooth snow, echoing off the sheer icy walls of the cliff. Below him he could hear the anxious mutterings of his guards, but for the moment the feelings of his people were not his first priority. He could not face this again, not so soon. Hand slipping to the hilt of his sword, fist closing around the cold metal of the ancient weapon, Celeborn surveyed the expanse of snow one last time, praying for something. . . anything.  
  
"Galadriel!" Sighing deeply in relief, Celeborn leapt up onto the steep bank and ran lightly over the surface of the snow until he could gain a closer look at the thin figure that he had just seen passing down a steep incline.  
  
His wife was standing at the bottom of a hollow, facing the sheer wall of rock at the side of the pass. Her shoulders were squared and she was swinging her sword - a long curved mithril blade - with both hands, once again becoming accustomed to the weight and feel of the weapon. She had cast her hood aside, and her golden hair was being whipped by the wind, mingling with the fine white flakes of snow.  
  
"Meleth-nîn." Celeborn leapt sure-footed from boulder to boulder until he was standing next to his wife and firmly removed the blade from her grasp before enveloping her in the warmth of his arms. "There is nothing that you can do."  
  
~*~  
  
"I had travelled that pass but months before." Erestor muttered quietly, not looking up from the map that was spread over the desk before him. Oblivious of the sudden stiffening of the other occupant of the room, he ran a finger back and forwards along the parchment, tracing a well-known path. "It was so peaceful, so beautiful."  
  
It was early in the morning, and the study was yet quiet and empty save for two slender figures bent over their papers. Both were struggling to finish the preparations for a festival that neither wished to celebrate, for there seemed to be little light promised for the days ahead.  
  
"There were flowers there, clouds of white flowers." Erestor spoke quietly and hoarsely. His lips were beginning to wobble against his bidding and the words and symbols of the map seemed to dance before his eyes. "I heard birds singing."  
  
Glorfindel did not speak, and bent down to look more closely at the parchment he had been reading. Large quantities of fine golden hair fell like a curtain across his face, hiding what thoughts he may have from his companion. The hollow silence in the room was unbearable, the hurt and the pain of both elves weighing heavily on their shoulders.  
  
"She was so kind and gentle. She is too small to wield a sword." Glorfindel was on his feet now, striding to the window with his back painfully stiff. Erestor knew that he should quieten, but the words would not cease their flow, now coming out more as a low mournful wail. "This was not her battle. She did not deserve this."  
  
Glorfindel leant heavily on the window ledge, each breath coming in an unsteady gasp as he tried to control the memories that threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to focus on a thin spider's web lit silver by the dewdrops as it struggled against the wind, but it was a weak effort against the power of what he had seen. His mouth felt dry, and what saliva there was had the bitter metallic taste of stale blood.  
  
"It is not right. . ." Erestor swallowed, uncharacteristic anger colouring his words. "If only I could. . . I wish. . ."  
  
"Erestor," a firm hand gripped the younger elf's shoulder and squeezed, the great fatigue and sadness in the normally merry voice suddenly reminding the young counsellor of how very ancient his companion really was, "I understand, my friend. I know."  
  
~*~  
  
"I shall fetch some snowdrops," Celebrian's chewed on her lip as she looked around the prepared guestroom. She had always had an eye for detail and she wanted to make sure that her parents had everything they needed. It would be a long and hard journey from Lorien this late in the year. "Ammë is fond of them, and perhaps some extra blankets. . ."  
  
"I shall check the towels." Arwen lifted a corner of the sheets and shook them out, sending a billow of air to the other side of the bed. Frowning a little in concentration she surveyed the bed and tugged at a corner of the blankets, straightening the chain of embroidered flowers on the coverlet. "Will you need help in the garden?"  
  
"I will manage, my Arwen." Celebrian's face lit up with laughter as she turned to her daughter. All three children had taken their father's lead in sheltering and protecting her, and as a result she was finding it difficult to get even a minute to herself. "They are but a few yards from the steps, little one."  
  
"The steps are icy, Ammë. Be careful." Arwen's eyes widened earnestly. "Are you sure. . ."  
  
"Arwen." Celebrian rolled her eyes as she began laughing, and after a moment Arwen joined her in mirth. "You may always watch me from the window."  
  
Still smiling, Arwen set the pitcher back down on the dresser and embraced her mother closely. Holding her closely, she smiled a little sadly and added tentatively. "I do not want anything to happen to you."  
  
Blinking quickly, Celebrian touched her lips to her daughter's forehead. While Arwen had not spoken of such things, she could well guess what fears shadowed the young face. "Nothing shall happen to me, Arwen. There is still too much that I wish to see."  
  
Arwen looked anxiously at her mother, wanting to believe but her eyes betraying her doubt.  
  
"You have so much to look forward to, my child." Celebrian smiled brightly, thinking of the joys that still lay ahead of her daughter. "Someday you shall meet one who with whom you wish to spend all the Ages of this world, and then you shall find that he feels the same for you. You shall bind yourselves to each other, and then may you be blessed with children of your own."  
  
Mother and daughter exchanged smiles, and Celebrian added softly, "I wish to be there with you, Arwen."  
  
Arwen smiled softly at her mother, only a slight barely perceptible darkness in her eyes remaining. "You shall, Ammë."  
  
Celebrian held her daughter once more, then turned to the door, eager to have the room perfect before dinner. Arwen stood still and silent for a few seconds, wondering. There had been a question that had been lingering unanswered for many long weeks, and although she tried to ignore it, it seemed to grow larger with each passing day.  
  
"Ammë," Arwen said slowly, her serious tone prompting her mother to turn around and look at her, "When you first came home, why would then not let me see you?"  
  
"My Arwen," Celebrian walked slowly to her daughter's side and gently brushed her fingers along one of the stray dark curls that tumbled down across her forehead, "It is not for you to know."  
  
~*~  
  
It was quiet in the chambers of the chambers of the family of Imladris. Elrond had departed to spend a few hours with his papers, much to Glorfindel's disapproval. Arwen was in the kitchens, overseeing the preparations for the Midwinter Feast. She had not expected to know what to do, but it seemed to be natural, a lesson taught by years of watching her mother. Both Elrohir and Celebrian lay silently on their beds, one slumbering peacefully and the other staring blankly at the wall. Out in the too tidy hallway a single sword stood propped against the wall, the only break in the lifeless monotony of what should have been a busy family room.  
  
Celebrian woke suddenly, blinking sleepily as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Although she felt that she no longer needed to rest during the day, Elrond was apt to insist that she went to lie down for a number of hours in the afternoon if she wished him to accompany her to the singing in the Hall of Fire in the evening. Someone had opened the window above the blanket chest, and the cold breeze had woken her earlier than she had become accustomed to. The sun was still quite high in the sky, and she could not have been sleeping for longer than an hour at most. Shivering a little, Celebrian pulled her shawl around her shoulders and padded softly over to the window, drawing it shut. She had never felt any but the most biting cold before, but since it had happened little things like drafts and frosts had begun to bother her.  
  
"Ammë, I am sorry! Did I wake you?" There was a light padding noise as Elladan dropped down off the window ledge, and he hurried over to his mother's side, providing her with unneeded assistance as he pulled the window shut with a bang. "I wished only for some air. I thought not. . ."  
  
"I am well, Elladan." Celebrian narrowly avoided laughing at her son's concern as the elder twin roughly tried to settle the shawl closer around her. While the child's heart was in the right place, his hands were hardened and callused from long hours spent with the sword, and he had little idea of when snug became tight. "I am quite comfortable, my child."  
  
Smiling reassuringly, Celebrian stepped back a few steps to survey her son, automatically reaching out to finger a loose and fraying button on the collar of Elladan's shirt. She had not known that her eldest son still sat with her as she slept, but surprised though she was, the thought was comforting. "You grow thin."  
  
"I am well." Elladan said stiffly, not quite meeting his mother's eyes. "I train hard. It is my duty."  
  
Celebrian looked at him in silence a moment, her own misgivings rising rapidly. It had always been important to Elladan to live up to expectations and fulfil his duties. To be a good captain, a good heir - a good son. Sometimes she wondered whether he acted for himself or for the sake of the person he felt that he needed to be. The person that he felt that those he loved wanted him to be. Sighing inwardly, but wisely keeping her sorrow to herself, Celebrian touched her fingers to the soft cloth of his shirt and spoke quietly, "Do your duty, Elladan, but do not forget that which you owe yourself."  
  
Elladan shifted uncomfortably, looking as if he would gladly flee but for the steadying touch on his arm. Eventually he sighed deeply and spoke reluctantly. "Everything is different now."  
  
Clenching his fists, he scowled at the floor, thinking furiously. He did not doubt that his mother would be distressed to hear of his recent activities, but she did not understand, not truly. She had always been someone that he could talk to when his own desires conflicted with those required of an elf of his standing, but this was different. Nothing else seemed to matter any more. The things that had worried him in years gone past now seemed small and insignificant, and he was almost ashamed to have let them bother him.  
  
"I did not expect this of you. I would not have asked for it." Celebrian bit her lower lip slightly and reached upwards to gently brush a few strands of dark hair behind her son's ear. "You will always be my son, and I will always love you, no matter what choices you make."  
  
"I did not do what I did because I am your son," Elladan frowned deeply and looked at his mother, eyes dark with badly disguised hurt. "I did it because you are my Ammë."  
  
~*~ 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Thanks to all reviewers! Feedback is still really really welcome!  
  
~*~  
  
Elladan glared at himself in the mirror, dark eyes meeting their reflection in an equally uncompromising gaze. It was another perfect day for the Midwinter Festival - there had been a storm overnight, but now it was calm and the valley was covered in a blanket of fresh white snow. The frozen trees were glinting silver in the sunlight. He had risen at dawn to welcome the new day out on the mountaintop, and all had been quiet and pure and peaceful.  
  
He knew that he need not have climbed for those hours to find silence. It was just as quiet here in his chambers as it had been out on the windswept cliffs. Last year there had been singing and laughter as they had struggled to get ready in time. Today he could not even hear his twin moving in the neighbouring room. He would have asked his brother to join him, but he was afraid of that he might do if he was refused.  
  
Frowning, Elladan tied the last braid painfully tightly and turned to the garments that he had set ready. He should find a woollen shirt if he was to spend the afternoon out in the forest. The winter felt colder this year.  
  
He moved his hand across his chest, grimacing as it revealed a faint purple mark where there had once been a deep and jagged tear. The wound had healed well. The scarring had faded now, leaving just a darker shadow close to his heart. The healers said that it would disappear in time.  
  
"Elladan." There was a sharp knocking on the half-open door and his father's voice called out his name.  
  
"Come in," he sounded rather more eager for the interruption than he would have liked to appear. His loneliness and sorrow were as private as his pain, and he had little intention of sharing them, even with his father.  
  
"Greetings." Elrond strode into the room and hesitantly reached to embrace his son. He had not been in here for longer than he had remembered. The carved wooden animals that had once wandered across the dresser and window ledges had been crammed untidily into a drawer. A selection of knives and a well-used sharpening stone were resting on the bedcovers.  
  
"Greetings, father." Elladan gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement then, on impulse engulfed his father in a rough hug. "Ammë?"  
  
"She is resting now." Elrond said reassuringly. He had stayed with her until she was sleeping peacefully before seeking out his children. "She was singing in the Hall of Fire."  
  
"Good." Elladan would have grinned at the note of pride in his father's voice had it not seemed inappropriate. His mother had always loved singing the traditional songs of the Midwinter Festival, and it would have hurt to him to think that she had missed a rare chance to laugh and smile.  
  
"Yes." Elrond said stiffly.  
  
Father and son looked at each other for a few moments. Neither had released the other from their embrace.  
  
"She will get better, Ada." Elladan said firmly, his eyes daring his father to disagree. There was a minute of silence before he spoke again, his apparent confidence betrayed by a slight quaver in his voice. "You have healed her."  
  
There was a pause.  
  
"Have you not?"  
  
"I. . ." Elrond's eyes strayed to the thick cloak that was draped over the back of a chair, then turned to his son with an expression of confusion.  
  
"You are going out." Elrond gripped Elladan by both shoulders and looked hard at him. "I had thought that we would talk."  
  
"It is Midwinter's Day, Ada." Elladan said softly, looking at his father. "Remember. . ."  
  
"The Festival. . ." Elrond paused, glancing guiltily towards the doorway. His people needed to see him there. They had little hope left. But his sons perhaps had the more urgent need. Elrohir's spirit was breaking. Elladan had become someone that he did not know.  
  
"I shall go." Elladan grabbed a cloak - a blue one, and fastened the brooch with practised fingers. He seldom wore the grey one now, even though the blood had washed out without stain. "Stay with Elrohir, he needs you."  
  
Elrond paused, looking back at the darkness that shadowed the doorway to Elrohir's chambers and turned to his elder son. It was not only Elrohir that needed him. "Elladan. . ."  
  
"I must hurry, Ada!" Elladan called behind him, his long legs making quick progress down the steps to where his sister was waiting. His voice sounded a little tauter than usual - perhaps attributable to the speed at which he was moving, but to all eyes he appeared unconcerned. Just another young elf- lord hurrying to the duties that he had been assigned. "I am late!"  
  
~*~  
  
The singing and dancing of the Midwinter Festival was long over by the time that anyone dared disturb the peace and privacy of the family's chambers. Alone and unanswered on the terrace, Erestor tentatively pushed the door open. The rooms were dark and cold, candles unlit and the fireplaces empty. His boots were caked with snow from the long trek through the valley, and although there was nobody to greet him or take his cloak, Erestor wiped his feet with excessive care.  
  
It was unnaturally quiet in here, especially for a place he had come to associate with laughter and light. Each door was shut, plunging the corridor into a musty darkness. There were empty vases on the tables.  
  
As he reached the end of the house where Elrond's sons had their chambers he paused by a door that swung slightly open. He had intended to enter and try to bring some cheer to those of the family that remained here, but when he tried to move, something held him back. He had not noticed at first, but through the crack of the door he could see Elrond sitting on the edge of the bed together with his youngest son, a comforting arm wrapped around the child's shoulders. Neither were without tears.  
  
Swallowing hard, Erestor swiftly drew the door shut and hurried away, leaving the silence of the family home as smooth and deep as it had been before his coming.  
  
~*~  
  
"But I should have been there, Ada! I should have been there!" Elrohir gulped in air and smeared some tears across his cheek with the side of his fist. "If we had gone with her. . . if we had left a little sooner, then maybe, maybe. . ."  
  
"Hush. Hush, child." Closing his eyes tightly, as if in pain, Elrond gripped his son's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. "Do not speak of such things."  
  
Elrohir looked at his father, unconvinced. He had thought long and hard on such questions. He has played with them in his mind until they threatened to consume him. He had seen beams of light and shade circling his ceiling, shadows lengthening and then creeping back, the moon waxing and waning. He still had no answer, but he was close. He must be close.  
  
"But these things have happened, Ada." Elrohir said blankly. "There must be a reason."  
  
Elrond moved to pinch the bridge of his nose, his spirit weary. He was a lore master, and he too found the quest for reason a temptation it was hard to ignore. But one could not think that way forever. Sometimes things just were.  
  
"Sometimes things happen, Elrohir, terrible things. We cannot prevent them." Elrond sighed deeply and lowered his gaze to the ground. "It does not make it our fault."  
  
Elrohir remained silent a little while longer, shadows of grief and sorrow flickering over his face. Although he was almost motionless, Elrond could see his eyes and mouth - seeming to fumble for some appropriate emotion - and for some strange reason he suddenly remembered one day when the twins had yet seen only five summers. They had climbed to the top of some small hill not far from the valley and they had cast themselves down onto the lush green grass. The sky had been dazzlingly blue and wisps of clouds had been blowing lazily across the sky. The boys had lain on the ground for hours watching the sky, and he had watched their faces, their expressions changing as quickly as the shapes of the clouds as they had argued, giggled and teased. Now though, there was little joy in his son's eyes - fear, pain, dark memories. . . and then suddenly the carefully controlled face was shaking, quivering, crumpling.  
  
"Ada." Choking with the intensity of his grief, Elrohir flung himself at his father; heaving great sobs of a sorrow so intense that Elrond's own heart seemed to be breaking. "It is not fair."  
  
There was little left to say.  
  
~*~  
  
"It is Midwinter's Day, Elladan." Glorfindel said kindly, glancing sidelong at the half-elf as he checked the stringing of his bow. "I did not expect you to come."  
  
They were alone on the training field, almost knee deep in the drifts of snow that had blown into the bottom of the valley. Although the captains of the Imladris Guard met at this time each week to train, none were expected to come today. This festival was one of the high points of the year for the elves of Imladris and they would be celebrating far into the night. He had come here to be alone.  
  
"You are here." Elladan said stubbornly. He did not meet his mentor's eyes, instead taking each arrow in turn and fixing it with a fearsome glare before returning it to his quiver.  
  
Glorfindel sighed and cast back the hood of his cloak, allowing golden hair to cascade down his back. "I had little to celebrate."  
  
Elladan grunted a response, concentrating completely on the target and the bow in his hands. He had come here to be alone, foolishly assuming that Glorfindel would be celebrating with his father as he always had done. The coming year promised little hope of light for any of them.  
  
The arrow whistled as it shot through the frosty air.  
  
"Good." Glorfindel nodded curtly as the arrow thunked satisfyingly into the centre of the target. There was so much he needed to say, but curiously he was left without adequate words. "Perhaps you wish to celebrate with your mother. . ."  
  
A second arrow joined the first in the centre of the target, then the half- elf fixed him with a hostile stare.  
  
"No."  
  
"No?" Glorfindel glanced quickly at Elladan and fitted an arrow to his own bow. It had started snowing in earnest again. Fine flakes blew here and there in the breeze, and the greyness of the sky threatened more before nightfall.  
  
"No." Elladan repeated, blinking some cold flakes of snow from his eyes.  
  
Glorfindel released his arrow, wrinkling his nose in disgust as it landed a few inches off target. He had warned Elrond not to speak to his sons too soon. Neither were yet ready to hear what they knew in their hearts.  
  
"You did well this afternoon." Glorfindel spoke lightly. To his surprise Elladan and Arwen had managed the speeches and traditional dances with skill and every semblance of ease. "I am grateful."  
  
Elladan glowered at the snow beneath his feet, fists clenched tight as he tried to control his temper. Another arrow slammed into the target before he turned to face Glorfindel and spoke coldly and deliberately. "Why would you care?"  
  
His dark hair was speckled with snow now and was hanging limply across his face. His face seemed too pale, but his eyes were bright with rage.  
  
"I am one of many that live in this valley." Glorfindel spoke gently. He did not want to fight the boy. Not now. "We are all grateful, Elladan. We know. . ."  
  
"No!" Elladan whorled back to face the row of snow-covered targets and drew back an arrow with a shaking hand. "None of you understand! Not one of you!"  
  
Glorfindel did not attempt to argue, merely letting his bow hang loosely at his side as he watched Elladan's arrow fly into the snowy depths of the forest. He had time enough.  
  
The next arrow went into the forest too. So did the next. The silence over the valley increased, the wind drowning out the sound of distant singing. The falling snow had covered any sign of their coming.  
  
"Ada. . ." Elladan's voice faltered and broke. His whole body was shaking now and he lowered his bow to his side as he struggled to regain self- control. An arrow dropped from his hand, landing deep in the snow. "Ada said that. . ."  
  
He turned his face down towards the snow, damp hair falling like a shadow across his features. His chin was shaking and tears were streaking unbidden down his cheeks. Droplets of warm salty water fell to the frozen ground close to where the red tail feathers of an arrow were just visible above the powdery snow.  
  
Glorfindel was at Elladan's side before the first sob broke the silence.  
  
~*~  
  
The Lord and Lady of Lorien strode down the hallway in silence, each consumed in their own thoughts. Neither had wished to linger for formal greetings and had neatly dodged the surprised counsellor that had tried to welcome them. They had not changed from their journey, and their cloaks and hair were sprinkled with snow. Celeborn's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, gripping it perhaps more tightly than he realised as he approached the doorway of the Hall of Fire.  
  
"She is inside?" As her husband hurried the last few steps towards the open doors, Galadriel slowed her pace, lingering just out of sight of the entrance. She could wait here, out of sight. She would be free to hope for the best, free to believe that the things that she had seen would not be realised.  
  
If she moved just a few steps further she would know. She would be forced to accept whatever had happen. She would either be overwhelmed by relief or face her worst fears.  
  
"Galadriel," Celeborn called softly, extending a hand towards his wife who had halted a few steps behind him, "Come. She is here."  
  
They were all there, the whole family, sitting silhouetted against the glow of the fire. They were exchanging gifts, all smiling as one of the boys lifted up a quilt embroidered with sparkling threads. It had been a long time since he had spent Midwinter with his family.  
  
"Is she. . ." Galadriel faltered slightly as she walked slowly forwards, finally coming to stand at Celeborn's side as her husband wrapped an arm around her waist. "She is not. . ."  
  
She had anticipated this moment. She had prepared herself as much as she could. The Mirror showed many things, some which were, some which had been and others that were yet to come. But powerful though it was, the Mirror did not obey, and she did not know truly what had happened. She could not even guess at what her daughter had suffered.  
  
"There," Celeborn said softly, nodding towards a small group sitting near the fire, "She is there."  
  
He had thought about this meeting. It had seemed so difficult from a distance, imagining the worst, training himself to expect the most grievous sorrows. But here was his daughter, smiling and laughing as she sang. She was gently swinging her husband's arm in time to the music as they sat hand- in-hand. She was not dancing as she should be perhaps, and the notes of her laughter sounded weaker, but suddenly the problem of how he should react did not seem a problem at all. She was his daughter, and he would greet her as he always did - with a hug and a kiss.  
  
"I. . . I. . ." Suddenly overcome by tears, Galadriel turned sharply from the doorway, hiding her face from her husband. She had waited so long for this moment, and she had tried to prepare herself for the worst in any way that she could. But now. . . "I cannot."  
  
"You cannot?" Celeborn's fair brow furrowed, and he turned to make after his wife's running footsteps but before he could move, his daughter had seen him.  
  
"Adar!" Celebrian called joyfully, her voice becoming choked by tears as she ran towards her father, and she buried her face in his shoulder, clinging tightly to his body. "Oh, Adar, you came!" 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Last chapter, still not mine. Many many thanks to reviewers and people who have stuck with this story over the last year! And woo! Christmas Eve! Will be posting Christmas story later today. It has cute and fluffy elflings in!  
  
~*~  
  
It was early yet in the morning, but neither the Lord nor the Lady of Imladris slept. They had not risen together, and neither had aimed to seek the other out, but somehow they both found themselves standing quietly together on the frost-silvered balcony, looking out over the pale expanse of the valley. The silence was thick in the still air, and neither one was looking at the other, instead watching the water gush in white and silver streams down the waterfall at the end of the gorge.  
  
"I do not ask you to stay." Elrond said at last, his voice rough and tuneless. "I would not have you stay to fade from pain and despair."  
  
There was a stiff silence, and Celebrian pulled her hand free from her husband's arm with a hint of annoyance. The least that he could do was have faith in her ability to face up to the struggles ahead of her.  
  
"I may not have the strength of my mother, nor a power equal to you, Elrond Peredhil." Celebrian clenched her fists stubbornly, and looked challengingly at her husband. "But I am no coward. I shall not abandon hope merely because I do not know what the future holds. I do not fear pain and despair!"  
  
Elrond did not reply, but placed his warm fingers over the back of his wife's cold hand. She had never been one to stop fighting before she was ready - like her mother but for the fact that she battled for others rather than herself - but she was not speaking as if it were a fact. More as if she were hoping that is she repeated it loudly enough and firmly enough it would be true.  
  
"It requires faith to struggle onwards towards an uncertain future," Elrond paused and stared unseeingly out over the valley, blinded by the cold tears that flowed unbidden from his eyes, "but in the end, you show your courage in accepting that it is time."  
  
Celebrian closed her eyes a moment, turning her face down to the frost and tiny icicles on the smooth wood of the balustrades. Slowly she turned to her husband, gaze lingering on one fraying piece of thong pulled taut around a star-shaped fastener on his boot, before meeting his eyes.  
  
"I shall have my spring, and my summer." Celebrian said resolutely then sighed deeply, tears pooling in her eyes and slipping silently down her face. Hesitantly she turned back to her husband, eyes pleading for understanding and her face shining with relief beneath her tears. "But it is already time."  
  
And far above from the quiet couple, high in the thick canopy that roofed the green hallways of Imladris, a single leaf dropped free and drifted softly and silently through the still air. It fell past halls and council chambers, past the sheer rock walls of the gorge and the through the bare skeletons of the trees at the riverbank, down into the gushing icy waters of the Bruinen. There it was overwhelmed and tossed and turned as it was washed around stones and over rapids, but a splash of blood red amidst the whites and silvers rushing down towards the sea.  
  
THE END  
  
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A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed this! I'd have never finished it otherwise and I was really unsure about the topic so knowing that there were people reading was very reassuring. So huge, huge thank you hugs for everyone that reviewed!  
  
You can get huge thank you hugs if you review this time too. . . :p 


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